#i cannot escape until i’ve read the whole thing

[spitedloser]

thank fuckin god

[cowyolks]

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Chapter Six. Of Gods & Monsters

Prev. Chapter Five Masterlist

Pairing: God! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: A prophecy written long ago stated of a human that would become the God’s wife and live in his domain for the rest of eternity.

A/n: I’m not a big fan of this chapter, I think it’s because I’ve been chipping away at it for about a week. But this is darker than normal, we sadly cannot have sunshine and rainbows forever!

Warnings: Claustrophobia, Violence & Fighting, pregnancy, Death. (Please do not read the first part of this chapter if any of these topics will trigger you! I’ll put a divider when most of the triggering themes stop) <3

Your fingers clutched down on your sheets, a fever creeping on your skin in withering agony. For the life of you, sleep would not come.

You twisted against the warm furs, attempting to lay comfortably on the soft material, but you might as well have been sleeping on rusty nails and sharp briar.

When you finally did manage to fall into a stupor, you wished you hadn’t.

You were trapped, stuck in a box of darkness with the walls far too close for comfort. It was your worst fear, literally and metaphorically. Being stuck in the tight box of your mother’s clutches, never seeing the world as you want. And the closing walls around you that made the air feel tighter in your lungs.

Then there was laughter.

Laughter that made your hair stand upon your neck in fearful prickles. You clashed your fist against the wall, but with each punch the box grew smaller, until you could no longer bring your arm back.

“Little dove...”

The image clashed, instead you were back in the bed Simon had tucked you into. But the furs were no longer warm, and as you went to move the material over the rest of your shoulders, you recognized your arms were restrained. Cool metal shackles closed against your wrists.

Instantly you panicked, squirming against the sheets.

“What do you want from me?” You wailed, fighting even harder against the chain when glowing red eyes glared back at you. They were predatory and wrong as they swallowed you whole.

“I want everything from you, little dove.” It hissed, closing in on you as you squirmed again.

You whimpered slightly in fear when the dark figure sat down on the end of your bed, his eyes the only thing illuminating the room. You strained, attempting to get a look at his face, but it was too dark and untraceable.

The creature stunk of rotten flesh and irony blood, that alone being enough to make your stomach do flips in nauseous agony.

“Look at you…” it repeated, his false coo making you stiffen. “Nice and warm, being coddled by the Lord of the Dead. Little girl, don’t you know it’s all a lie, an illusion?”

Claws clutched into the flesh of your ankle. A burning sensation of agony escaped from the skin, a choked wail falling from your lips as he squeezed down.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” You sobbed, only sobbing harder when his eyes bore into your soul as he crawled closer to you, his body now shifted to your neck as he breathed in.

“So fragile, you know what Hades does to fragile things? He kills them, burns them until all they have left is sorrow and miserable enclosure. Don’t believe me? Look!” He roared, and the images of your vision snapped again.

You were in a quaint home, it looked normal, with washing boards hung on the wall and fresh twigs of rosemary and thyme drying in the sun. Rays of light flickered through the hand-sewn curtains, and even with the snow frosted on the pane, the roaring furnace made the room cozy.

But it was all wrong.

Because the furnace was smoking, long forgotten roast charring upon the surface.

You jumped when a mangled scream echoed from behind you. Quickly, you turned, eyes falling on a hooded figure that pressed his palm upon the stomach of the body next to him. Your gaze flickered, catching upon two other slumped figures, close together, huddled around a little baby.

A baby painted in the red of his parents.

You threw up the contents of your stomach upon the wooden floor, just as the man let out a piercing scream.

Your image flipped again. Now, in a garden. It was dark and starry out—peaceful. If you listened closely, crickets chirped against the honeysuckle and fluttering irises.

There was a woman among the stone path, looking upwards to the bright constellations, her breath relaxed and deep. A long dress of white fit over her hips, a veil of the same color covering part of her face, hiding her from identification.

She was humming, obviously content with the warm weather. One hand clung to her belly, adoringly smoothing out a small swell. It was a little bump, but it was quite easy to tell she was pregnant.

Her humming was put to a stop when wings fluttered in front of her, a tall figure clothed in black appearing before her.

Simon.

Instantly, his wings pulled her closer, an adoring look behind his eyes as he wrapped this woman in his arms.

It made your lungs compress in an unknown feeling. The God promised to you, knelt upon the stone path in front of her. He lifted his mask a fraction, bringing his hands upon her hips and kissing upon the small swell of her stomach.

Kissing his child.

Your stomach twisted in demented jealousy.

“You’re beauty grows by the hour. Carrying my child suits you well, uxor mea.”

Her laugh was musical and familiar. The chime making you furrow your brow as you tried to think of who this mysterious woman was.

“Our child, Si. He’s half of me too, don’t you know?”

He rose to his full height, yet his hand never left her stomach. “How could I ever forget?”

This felt wrong, watching him kiss her with such tender care.

But their kiss was cut short, a pluck of an arrow against a drawstring flooded your ears. The golden tip of a broad-head ran through Simon’s wing like butter.

You choked back a yell, listening to him grunt in surprise before letting out an excruciating hiss in pain.

Yet, as doubled over, he caught sight of where the arrow had gone, embedded deep in the stomach of the woman.

You’d never heard anyone scream louder than him.

The woman stumbled, falling upon the stone path as Simon rushed to catch her, his hand already falling to where the arrow punctured her gut. Golden ichor slipped between his fingers, staining them.

The last thing you saw before the image cut out was the veil lifting off the woman features, your own face staring back at you, glazed over in death.

The image fizzled out.

You woke with a throaty gasp.

Your eyes adjusted to the room, relieved to find it to be lit with several candles and bright.

A dream. It was all some nightmare.

“My lady, are you alright?” The concerned voice of Kleo peered down at your sweat covered body. You brought your hands up to your face, digging your palm into the soft flesh of your eyelids. Attempting to wipe away the gruesome images you have seen.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a nightmare.”

“You were screaming.” Nova had her arms crossed, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. You huffed, attempting to shake off the dream.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The three furies came to an agreement, instead settling on running you a bath. Something you desperately needed, at the very least to calm your nerves.

“I could have ran the water myself…” you mumbled weakly, padding across the tile to a washroom of significant size. The tub was massive, it being more of a pool than anything. It was a humiliating walk down the halls, with your hands shaking despite your sweating back.

“You’re our future Queen, we serve thee with honor.” Calisto spoke strongly, a small nod of her head as she regarded you.

You didn’t feel like a Queen. You didn’t know if you’d want to be one after what you saw.

“We will let you bathe. Afterwards, Hades asked if we could escort you to him.”

The women left the room with a small bow, it almost made your skin itch more than the drying sweat. You shredded yourself of your nightdress, stepping into the soapy water. The scent of calming lavender relaxed your nerves.

How could you look Simon in the eyes after that nightmare?

You scrubbed yourself with soap, attempting to rid the sensation of the creature’s touch off your flesh. That’s when your eyes narrowed on the skin of your ankle, a visible blemish in the shape of a claw, a burning scar that made your stomach flip.

It wasn’t a dream.

You couldn’t tell Simon, if he knew of your nightmares you were shown, he’d surely kill you faster. Your brain ticked feverishly, not even soap could wash away the dirtiness you felt.

You’d walked into the lair of a monster, willingly.

His sweet words were nothing if it meant death. You thought of your eyes, the frost of death covering them.

In a rushed attempt, you dried your skin, doing well to hide the mark with your sandals. You picked a dress of opal blue, relaxing as it covered your ankle more as it dipped to the ground.

With a steady breath, you opened the doors, relived that the furies were waiting for you and would escort you to Hades instead of making you go by your lonesome.

“He’s in the courtyard, likely. As he is every morning.” Nova rolled her eyes, a playful smile upon her lips that contrasted your current frown.

They led you through the palace, until marble turned to older cobble, wrapped in ivory. It was strange, knowing you were underground, but the sun still shone artificially. You supposed it made the realm feel less of a prison.

A loud clang of metal met your ears, among with the sound of grunting. Another clash, and flap of wings.

On the other end of the high shrubs and growing honeysuckle, was a square of stone path, an open area that would likely be held for parties and festivals. Now, as your eyes darted, it looked to be a training area. Swords lay upon racks, big and menacing.

But menacing of all was Simon.

His dark wings spread like a beast of war, a sword clamped in one hand as he swung it menacingly at a figure similar in structure. Simon was taller, more muscular, and shirtless. His skin a painting of scars of white and pinkish anger. His shoulders flexed against each blow, his own parries overpowering his opponent.

Yet his sparring partner wasn’t completely defenseless. The figure, cloaked in a black robe was quicker. He danced instead of fought, his own wings sleeker and sharper than Simon’s. A large scythe was in his hand, the blade floating as if it weighed nothing more than a couple feathers.

He hovered as he parried Simon’s thunderous blow, his hood falling back just slightly and enough to see a sharp jawline and a pleasant smirk upon his lips.

Nova cleared her throat from next to you, momentarily distracting Simon enough for the stranger to swipe his scythe across his unprotected arm.

You felt cold as you watched familiar golden ichor spill from his wound.

“Never take your eyes away from the reaper, my King.” A deep voice matched the stranger’s figure, smugness clinging to his tone.

Simon rolled his eyes from under his mask, sweeping a thick leg out and knocking his opponent to the ground, placing his wickedly sharp sword against the base of his throat.

“And you should know by now, Keegan— you can’t cheat death.”

“Alright alright, I tap. Besides you seem to be needed.” Keegan teased, his wings that reminded you of a falcon slipped back into his back. With a hand, Simon helped him to his feet, the two of them making their way towards the four of you.

Hesitantly you took a small step back, only minuscule, but enough for Simon’s eyes to narrow in gentle concern. You had to remind yourself that it was all a trick. This was a sick game he was playing.

The demon said so. And he scared you enough to believe it.

“Thank you ladies. I’ve got a case in an hour, I suspect you’ll warm up the trialed?” Simon spoke lowly, his words cryptic.

The furies hissed pleasantly, before bowing and vanishing in a crack of smoke. The smell of ash made your stomach clench.

Simon’s stare landed upon you. You felt like a sheep in front of a wolf, two wolves if you counted the stranger known as Keegan.

Simon’s eyes followed yours, knowing you were gazing warily at his sparring partner.

“This is Thanatos, yet he prefers his vessel’s name of Keegan.” Simon introduced you. Keegan’s hands went to his hood, pulling the material down so all of his face was now visible. He was incredibly handsome, in a predatory way. His jaw was tight, teeth sharp against his growing smirk. His nose was long, and his hair a dark shadow color. Yet most startling was his eyes, a blue so cold it could almost be described as a milky white.

“A pleasure it is to meet you, flos.” His voice was deep, and it matched his cold complexion. You lifted your lip slightly, a simple greeting.

Keegan turned back to Simon, declining his head slightly. “I must go, I’ll be back for the hearing, I have a feeling this will be ugly.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, this meant you’d be alone with Simon again. You clenched your hands to avoid them shaking.

“Safe travels.” Simon grunted, nodding his head in a farewell as Keegan spread his massive wings and flew in a flash so fast you couldn’t see anything but a blur.

Now the two of you were alone. You inhaled, act natural.

It was hard not to stare at the God in front of you. His bare chest glistened with sweat, his muscles clenched from such a workout. He was beautiful in a monstrous way, in a dangerous way.

The cut across his arm had already closed, yet golden blood still flowed on his flesh. The strange color nearly glowing.

You flinched back when you felt the feeling of his bare fingertips brushing your chin, guiding your head to glance at him from under the skull.

“Is everything alright?” Simon asked, his voice laced with concern that seemed to be genuine. His fingers retracted carefully, noticing the discomfort swimming in your eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just slept wrong,” you partially lied, though Simon didn’t seem to catch onto it. Instead he pulled his cloak over his chest, covering himself slightly, though you could still see the thin line of his toned stomach and valley of his chest.

“Then I have something to show you, are you alright with walking a bit?”

You nodded hesitantly, cursing when he extended his arm for you to take. You did so, feeling the chill of his skin through the thin material of his clothes.

“You know, you don’t have to tell me what is bugging you, but I’ll always be here to listen,” his voice was soft.

“Bad dream.” You mumbled, stepping down the path and into the entrance of a large cave, it was dark but not entirely so. You could make out the large silhouette of something massive.

“Are you sure it was a dream?” The God had asked, which did little to conceal your fear. You huffed fearfully, shaking your head.

Whatever Simon was going to say next was halted by a deafening bark, the sound causing dust to spill from the ceiling above. You froze, the only thing your body could muster up, as you stared at the most monstrous creature you’ve ever seen. A small squeak left your mouth as this creature came into the light.

Whiskers like swords covered each head, three of them. Teeth bared against then black and brown coat, a low whine escaping the ‘dog’.

“This is Cerberus, he guards the entrance of my palace, and he is my most loyal friend.” Simon spoke lightly, happily stepping forward. The dog batted his tail against the ground, shaking the cave again with its pure size.

When the dog noticed your scent and figure, it’s long tongue slipped out of each of its mouths, teeth bared in a smile, hot breath fanning across your face in bursts. Cerberus barked, making you flinch back. With a small wave of Simon’s hand, the dog shrunk, becoming the size of a large wolf. Still, the dog was massive, but less so of a monster.

“Come say hello.” Simon prodded, his hand falling upon one of the heads, scratching behind its ears as the other two looked on in jealousy.

You didn’t make a move to approach.

“He won’t hurt you. Besides, my scent is all over you, Cerberus will see you as a friend.” Simon reassured, although you wondered if he was attempting to kill you easily, the dog hiding all evidence of your demise.

It seemed you were taking far to long to make up your mind, because Cerberus leapt from his haunches, bringing his paws up and tackling you down to the cave floor. You fell with a ‘humph’, frozen in fear as his mouth lowered to your face.

A squeak clawed up your throat, just as the dog’s three mouths opened, licking long stripes up your chin.

It seemed… happy.

“Get off you big oaf.” Simon snatched his pet back by his neck, concern falling over his dark irises, before realizing you weren’t hurt.

Then to your absolute surprise, the God laughed. Not a chuckle or crinkle of his eyes, no. Simon was hunched over, uncharacteristically laughing so brightly you nearly forgot about the dreams that plagued your mind and your now dirty dress.

Cerberus barked, wiggling free of Simon’s hold, before stopping in front of you. His tail wagging happily.

In a strange way, the creature was cute.

You hesitantly reached out, bringing your shaking fingers towards one of the snouts, a bubbly sigh falling from your lips as the head tilted into the caress, although the other heads looked jealous.

“You’re not so bad are yah, boy?” You smiled, brushing yourself off and rising to your feet again. The dog lapped at his jaws, drool now falling upon the ground as it reveled in your touch. It was obvious you needed to find some time to play with it.

“You’re a natural, sponsa mea.” Simon purred from a couple feet away, looking on at his companion and betrothed with a puffed chest. It confused you, how he could play his act so well, how he could so easily pretend to love a weak mortal such as yourself.

“I used to feed the village strays.” You admitted, remembering how excited the young pups were when you’d come baring scraps from feasts. Simon’s eyes crinkled, “I know.”

Right, the crow. He saw nearly everything you did in your village. It was enough for a cold shiver to run down your spine.

A hand still sat perched upon Cerberus’ head, but a loud growl disturbed you, making you nearly fall upon your own feet again. One of the dog’s heads was sniffing at your ankle, his teeth bared back and threatening.

The ankle the creature had burned. You felt panic begin to spread through your very veins.

Simon grew serious, his posture straightened. “He smells something on you, darling.” He spoke like barbed wire, cutting and deep. He was demanding an explanation. You wanted to pass away there, but you wouldn’t escape him, even in death.

You took a step back, just as the God took a stalking step forward. He seemed hurt by the action, but halted his advances.

“Whatever Cerberus smells on you, is serious. Let me look at it. Please darling, I don’t want you hurt.” His voice was liquid gold, and it pulled you in like a siren on the sea.

“It wasn’t just a dream.” You whispered, using the last bit of blind trust you had in the God of the Dead. “I was shown awful things, terrible things.”

You felt so weak. Pathetic. Yet Simon didn’t make you feel small as he approached, guiding his companion out of the way to gaze at the flowing fabric of your dress.

He crouched, kneeling on his knees in a way that made heat fall upon your stomach. If you weren’t so terrified, perhaps you’d be burning with want, seeing such a large and terrifying man knelt in front of you. A king kneeling for a queen.

You lifted your foot, placing the leg in his awaiting hand, his touch was gentle, gloved hands falling upon your freshly washed skin. It was soothing on the wound, but his reaction immediately grounded you. He lifted the dress fabric higher, curses falling from his lips in such dark anger you whimpered.

“When did this appear?” His tone was serious and stern, never had he spoke to you like this. You gulped, “After my nightmare. Except I don’t think it was a nightmare, those eyes, it grabbed me.” You sobbed, watching on as Simon dropped your ankle once more.

In the blink of an eye another familiar black-cloaked figure appeared next to Simon. Keegan no longer wore a playful smirk, instead he sternly glanced at his King.

“Take her back to the palace, I want eyes on her at all times, take shifts with the furies. Report to me if anything happens. Immediately.”

Keegan bowed, yet you stepped towards Simon, “where are you going?” You whimpered, just as Cerberus whined.

“To call a council. Our greatest enemy is back, and it’s hunting you.” Simon growled, before disappearing in a flap of angry wings.

You never should have ate that seed.

Next Chapter

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[mint-yooxgi]

{15} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Hongjoong)

Words: 8,068

Warnings: Insecurities, violent thoughts/comments, uncertainty. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, I totally didn’t expect this scene with Hongjoong to be as long as it was, but you know what, he deserves it. I really enjoyed writing it, so I hope you’ll all enjoy reading it. Also, smut next chapter hehehe (probably). As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Mini Masterlist

“I thought I would find you here,” the gentle hum of a voice draws your attention to the open doorway of the garden, where you can see Hongjoong slowly beginning to make his way over to you.

Currently, you sit comfortably on one of the benches off to the left of the fountain, watching the water gently trickle and ripple out as the scent of all of your favourite flowers surrounds you. It’s been exactly three days since that night you’ve shared with Mingi, and you just really needed some fresh air. Not that you’re in a horrible mood, or anything, you’ve just had too much time to think.

One habit of yours that you’ve never been able to break is overthinking things. Sure, it may not be as bad now as it was at the start of this whole fiasco, but still, sometimes you cannot help but get caught up in your own head.

It also just seems to be one of those days. A day of which you just feel more down on yourself than usual. Luckily, it hasn’t happened for a little while, but still, it occurs more than you’d like to admit.

“May I sit with you?” He stands a mere two feet away from the bench, hands clasped behind his back as a soft look rests on his features.

A nod of your head is all the confirmation he receives.

Keeping his movements light, Hongjoong slowly takes a seat on the opposite side of the bench that you’re sitting on. His hands rest in his lap as he folds them over one another, extending his legs out in front of him so that his ankles are crossed.

A minute passes in silence. Then another, and another, with you still staring intently at that fountain. That is, until Hongjoong’s gentle voice calling out to you manages to pull you out of your thoughts once more.

“What seems to be on your mind, My Love?”

A long sigh escapes your nose as you exhale, chest deflating with your breath as your thumbs begin to run over each other slowly. You notice you have his complete and utter attention as he turns slightly to face you, the concern clear in his eyes.

“I just-“ you let out another sigh, seemingly searching for the right words. Your lips part, before closing again, until you finally settle on what it is that you want to say. “I am overwhelmed.”

Immediately, he’s sitting upright, worry clear on his features as he reaches out for you. Only, he stops himself halfway, unsure of whether or not you would want his touch comforting you, or even if you would let him.

“Have we done something to upset you?” The question is posed in a concerned tone, Hongjoong needing to know what’s wrong, and how he can fix it as soon as possible.

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Please, do not misunderstand. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my entire life.”

Slowly, carefully, Hongjoong reaches over to place a caring hand on top of your own, which haven’t seemed to stop nervously toying with each other since before he arrived. You freeze slightly, but do not shy away from his touch as you finally look up to meet his gaze.

“Then, what could be bothering you so greatly, My Love?” His voice is soft, the thumb of his one hand tracing over the skin of your own.

Once more, you avert your gaze to your lap, staring intently at his hand resting over your own. At the way he seems to halt his movement of his thumb over the skin of the back of your hand, you can tell that he’s probably about to pull away from you. Only, you seem to surprise both him, and yourself, as you turn your hand to place your palm directly against his own, fingers intertwining as you practically cling onto him for support.

Then, as if confessing to the greatest sin of your life, you speak, voice barely above a whisper.

“Do I really deserve all of this?” Your eyes briefly glance up at the garden around you, before turning to meet his gaze. Hongjoong feels as if you are boring a hole right through his very soul at the intensity he can see shining behind them. “Do I really deserve all of you?”

There’s a hint of fear in your voice, a sort of sadness that he does not quite understand for the moment. That is, until the flash of your shared memory from the other week paints his mind.

He smiles sorrowfully, eyes drooping slightly as he feels that all too familiar painful tug on his heart.

“Of course you do, My Love.” He replies, voice a mere whisper on his lips. “Why would you ever think that you are unworthy of all of this? Of all of our love?”

“You’ve all done so much for me, and I’ve done nothing to earn it.” The admission has shame washing over you, your shoulders slumping as you curl forwards and in on yourself. “I’m still only human. I don’t understand what literal gods would want with me.”

“You exist.” Comes his blunt response, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At the way Hongjoong can see your brow furrow in confusion, he lets out a small chuckle before continuing.

“My Love, you make us feel things that we have not felt in centuries. You make us feel alive.” He says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Every day, we fall a little bit harder for you with each and every new discovery you present to us. At least, I know I do. There is nothing about you that does not sing to my very soul in some way. Your intelligence is unrivalled; your dignity, your charm, your kindness. The way you care for those which you hold dear and cherish most, portrays a thoughtfulness that we have always held in high regard for each other throughout our lives.” 

“You evoke emotions in us that we have not felt in millennia, nor experienced before in all of our long years of living.” He continues, staring deeply into your eyes as he notices tears begin to gather in your own. His heart pangs for a completely different reason now. “Your passions rival our own; your integrity, your determination, and your wit. We are more alike than you realize, which could not make you a better fit for us, nor make us desire you more than we already do. You are perfect in every way: mind, body, and soul.”

Hongjoong shifts the slightest bit closer to you as a soft smile graces his features. In the next moment, he gives your hand another gentle squeeze, reassuring you through both his actions, and his words how honest he is being with you right now. How sincere.

Though, it’s his next admission that truly knocks the wind right out of you.

“It is us that do not deserve you.”

“Hongjoong,” the whisper of his name on your lips is synonymous with the first tear that spills down the side of your cheek.

“You have showed us a kindness - a benevolence - that we did not deserve. You chose to trust us, despite everything we - despite everything I - have done. You have shared parts of yourself with us that we have only ever dreamed of being revealed to us, much sooner than we probably deserve.” He raises his free hand, turning even more into you so he can cup the side of your face tenderly in his palm. “There is no greater gift, no higher honour that you could give to us, than allowing us the opportunity to enter your heart in the same ways you have entered ours. Please, never forget that.”

Your eyelids flutter closed as you lean into his touch, feeling his thumb beginning to brush over the skin of your cheek as he caresses you tenderly. Another tear falls, and he’s quick to brush it away.

“Please, do not cry, My Love,” his voice is gentle as he holds you in his embrace like this. His heart squeezes painfully at knowing that you’ve been sitting here, alone, feeling like this for who knows how long, trapped in your own thoughts. “Do not ever doubt for one second that you do not deserve everything that we have to offer, and so much more. We would not hesitate to give you entire galaxies if that is what you so desire. You need simply only ask for something, and we will do everything in our power to grant your every wish. You are our entire world. Our light. Our life. We- I hope you never doubt that again.”

You take a deep, albeit shaky breath in as a moment of stillness passes between the both of you. Your eyes remain closed as you revel in his touch, your whole body feeling as if it’s humming with life as he holds your cheek in the palm of his hand. Then, slowly, you begin to nod softly.

“Thank you,” your voice is but a whisper as you breathe out, eyes blinking open to meet his own. “Thank you, Hongjoong, I really needed to hear that.”

“Of course, My Love,” he smiles tenderly at you, giving your cheek a final brush with his thumb before slowly pulling his hand away. “I am just glad I could offer you comfort during this time. I care about you more than you’ll ever know.”

Wiping at the rest of your lingering tears with the back of your free hand, you notice his one arm now stretched along the back of the bench. Shifting slightly, you lean into him, much to Hongjoong’s pleasant surprise. You give his hand still held in yours a small squeeze.

“Will you sit with me for a while longer?” An offer extended to him which makes his heart leap into his throat for all of the right reasons.

“I would love nothing more,” he replies, shifting slightly closer into you and noticing how your lips quirk the slightest bit upwards as he does so.

Oh, so badly does Hongjoong want to roar in happiness. How long has he dreamt of moments like this, shared with you while you rest in each other’s embrace? Finally, it seems as if his dreams are all coming true.

A few minutes of silence wash over the both of you, but this time, they are not filled with the same heaviness as before. The only sound that fills the space is the trickling of water from the fountain. A soft breeze brushes past.

Hongjoong smiles, fully relaxing into this moment with you. He absolutely adores how you have yet to release his hand, nor move away from his touch yet. If he’s being honest with himself, he could spend hours sitting like this with you. That is, if you let him. The cherry on top is the smile he notices that begins to paint your features as he makes another slight breeze drift by, the scent from the flowers filling your lungs with every breath you take.

Still, he cannot help the way worry tugs at the back of his mind at the mood he walked in on you in.

“My Love?” His voice pulls you back to reality as you hum in acknowledgement. “I do not wish to pry, and you do not have to answer me if you aren’t ready. However, I am simply wondering why you felt unworthy of all of this just now.”

You purse your lips slightly in thought, contemplating how best to respond. Taking a calming breath in, you begin to speak.

“I have gone through my whole life with people always expecting something from me. Whether it was in return for something they did, performance wise, or other, people were never just content with the parts I was willing to give. They always had to take something in return. It’s so engrained in me to always give more than I want to, or have to now, and to not receive anything back, that it just feels weird when someone else does things for me without expectations.” You explain, your eyes falling to your lap once more. “So, when that does happen, I feel like I’m cheating others. It’s the whole, ‘I’ve done nothing to deserve what I’m being given, so why are they giving it to me?’ mentality.”

“I’m scared, Hongjoong." You admit, sparing a glance up into his eyes and noticing how his breath catches in his throat when you do so. “You have all done so much for me, and I just feel like I haven’t done anything in return. What if I’m not who you think I am? What if, when I finally give myself to all of you, I am no longer what you want? What will happen when you all grow tired of me, and I’m of no more importance to you that a spec of dirt? Will you no longer want me when I do give you what you finally want?”

You take another shaky breath in, clinging onto his hand for dear life as a fear unlike anything he’s seen from you before swirls within your eyes.

“I’m scared, Hongjoong,” you repeat, voice much more hushed than it was a moment ago, as if confessing to your own thoughts is the biggest crime you could ever commit. “I’m scared because I-“ you swallow, “I really like living with you guys. It’s like I said before, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my entire life, and that’s all because of you. I love how none of you expect more from me than what I’m willing to give, and you have never expected more of me than that. I appreciate every minuscule detail you each put into our home, and that you literally went above and beyond anything I could have ever imagined.”

“I care about you all in my own ways, and I just-“ you let out a sigh, staring at your intertwined hands as you brush your own thumb over the skin on the back of his own. “I don’t ever want to lose this. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

Hongjoong has to swallow the sudden dryness in his throat, tears now springing to his own eyes as a warmth unlike any other spreads through his chest at your final confession. Though, he still worries about your own fears. Fears of which are untrue, and have no reason to be consuming your every thought. Only, before any words of reassurance can escape him, you are continuing.

“I know,” you chuckle dryly, “it’s incredibly selfish of me, isn’t it? To not want to give up anything. I just-“ you sigh once more, “I can’t help it. For the first time in my life, I  finally know what it feels like to be someone’s first choice. For the first time in my life, I know what it feels like to have someone be in love with me, and actually mean it. Which is why your words earlier are everything to me. You all make me feel so incredibly special, that I never want it to stop.”

“And it never will,” he assures you, meeting your gaze once more as he stares deeply into your eyes. “My Love, we will never not want you. You are so ingrained in our very souls, that to leave you would be like leaving a part of ourselves behind. We- I am so deeply in love with you, that I would never stop trying to make you fall for me in the same ways that I’ve fallen for you. Were you no longer in my life, I do not know if I would be able to go on. I do not know if any of us would. You are everything to us - to me, that we- I will never stop wanting to give you everything that you’ve always deserved, and so much more.”

You smile faintly, bringing your free hand up to caress the side of his face with your palm, noticing how he leans into your touch almost immediately. His eyelids flutter closed as he once again revels in this very moment here with you.

“Hongjoong,” his name is but a whisper on your lips, and you can just tell that he can hear how your heart thunders away in your chest. “I believe you.”

He mirrors your smile, eyes remaining shut as he rests in the palm of your hand.

“Good,” he squeezes your hand still held tightly in his own. “I’m glad.”

“Your words have reassured me more than you know,” you breathe. “I really didn’t know how badly I needed to hear them until now. Though, your actions tend to speak for themselves.”

You finish with a small chuckle, and when Hongjoong opens his eyes, he notices your gaze trailing around the garden once more.

“It’s like I’ve said, My Love,” he turns his head to place a soft kiss onto the palm of your hand, his lips tickling your skin as he speaks into you, eyes still locked onto your own, “you deserve everything that we have to offer, and so much more.”

Your lips part as if you want to say something more, but you stop yourself, brow furrowing slightly in worry. As if what you have to say is a worse admission than everything that has come before. 

Hongjoong blinks, eyes searching your face incase anything about your expression gives way to what you’re thinking right now. At the way his breath hitches slightly, he thinks he’s beginning to understand.

“My Love, you are enough.” At the way he feels your whole body still before him, he knows his words have struck true. “You are always more than enough for us. All we have ever wanted, all we have ever desired, is you. Your happiness, your affection, your love. That is all we ask: simply be you.”

“But I haven’t-“

“You don’t need to do anything to deserve our love and affection,” Hongjoong cuts you off, noticing much to his discontent how your hand falls from his face and back to your lap for the moment. “We are in love with you, not anything you could possibly provide for us. Actions and words are simply extensions of who we are; you do not need to provide more than you’re willing to give. Just let us take care of you.”

“I-“ you blink, taking a deep breath in to steady your nerves. Your head begins to throb. “There are parts of me that none of you know about yet, and I just cannot help but fear that once you do know, you will never look at me the same way again.”

“We are more alike than you think,” Hongjoong observes, shifting his attention back to the fountain in front of you. “Not a day goes by where I do not think of everything that I’ve done that could scare you away again in the blink of an eye, if you knew of the various sins that I have committed.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like I’m invalidating your own feelings.” You mutter, voice barely above a whisper as you look down at your lap yet again.

“Do not worry, My Love, I never thought that for one second.” He gives your hand still held in his another reassuring squeeze. “What I’m trying to say is this: it’s normal to have these sorts of fears. Yet, that’s love, is it not? Revealing yourself fully; stripping yourself bare to the one that holds your heart in the palm of their hands and giving them the power to either cradle it gently, or tear it apart in the blink of an eye.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” you chuckle slightly, lips quirking in the corner. “Though, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a love like this before.”

“Can I let you in on a little secret?” He leans in slightly, head gently resting against your own as he draws you in closer.

You hum, shifting your gaze slightly to spare him a glance out of the corner of your eyes.

“Neither have I,” his confession is a mere whisper against the skin of your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “In all of my long years of life, I have never referred to anyone as I do you.”

“You mean you’ve never…?” You trail off, and Hongjoong gladly fills in the rest for you.

“Called anyone ‘My Love’ before?” He chuckles at the way you pull away slightly to gaze at him with wide eyes. “No, I have not.”

You blink, that familiar tug of curiosity shining within your eyes. “Why?”

“Because I have never found anyone worthy enough to call them as such.” He replies, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “I have never felt so strongly about anyone as I do you. All the other times I have experienced love in my life feel like child’s play compared to this. You have shown me what being in love truly feels like, and means. I have finally found a piece of me that I did not realize I had been longing for all these long years.”

“Hongjoong,” your heart positively flutters at his confession, fingers tightening around his own as your opposite hand comes to rest on top of your intertwined ones.

“Do you think we’d call just anyone Our Queen?” He chuckles, nudging your knee with his own affectionately.

“No,” you smile softly, “I suppose not.”

“So, please, My Love, do not let these thoughts consume you any longer.” He meets your gaze once more. “Whenever you need me, whenever you need us, we will be right there to help calm you down, and assure you that they have no truth to them. Ever. You are everything to us. You, and you alone.”

For a moment, a silence settles around the both of you as you let his words sink in. The corners of your lips tug upwards faintly as you reach out to him once more, the palm of your hand caressing the side of his face. In the next moment, you’re leaning in, placing a tender kiss onto the skin of his opposite cheek.

“Thank you, Hongjoong,” you pull away, noticing how the tips of his ears begin to turn bright red as you lean into him, resting your head upon his shoulder. “You have eased the worry in both my heart, and my mind, more than you will ever know. I appreciate everything that you do for me, and have done for me. I appreciate you.”

“I will always be here for you, My Love,” his chest rumbles in content as he wraps his arm fully around your shoulders, pulling you closer into himself for the moment. “In anyway that I can.”

“Thank you, Hongjoong,” your heart warms as you allow your eyes to flutter closed, revelling in such a tender moment shared with him. “I don’t know why my thoughts got the better of me today.”

“We all have off days,” he comments with a hum, thumb back to brushing over the skin on the back of your hand.

You nod once more, continuing to rest your head against his shoulder for the time being. Again, Hongjoong creates a gentle breeze which flits through the garden, caressing both you and him as the scents of the flowers surround you both.

“Hongjoong?” Your voice pulls him back into this moment here in time.

“Yes, My Love?”

“May I ask you something?” You seem somewhat nervous despite the curiosity lingering in your tone.

“Of course, My Love,” comes his immediate response. “Ask me anything you desire, and I will answer to the best of my abilities.”

You smile faintly as you curl in closer to his side. A fact which warms his heart more than you’ll ever know.

“You do not have to answer if you don’t want to, but I was wondering,” you take a deep breath in, “can you tell me more about your relationship with Miyeon?”

Even though it’s slight, you can still feel the way his whole body tenses beneath you, clearly caught off guard by your question. That is, until he’s relaxing once more.

“What would you like to know?”

“You said you didn’t love her, yet you are one of the four counted in a relationship with her. Why?” You tilt your head slightly upwards to look at him, all the while continuing to rest against his shoulder.

“There are many different types of relationships other than just romantic, My Love,” he begins. “Sure, it may not have been your typical one, but we were still in agreement with one another. There’s just one thing I need you to understand: we both used each other for our own gains, and nothing more. She used me to get herself off, just as I-“ he sighs, voice lowering slightly in what you believe to be shame, “I used her. There was no love involved. At least, on my end.”

“She started to fall for you?” You ask, tone soft as you continue to gaze up at him.

“To this day I still do not know if she actually did, or if it was all apart of her game of trying to lure us all into her trap,” he sighs, leaning further back into the bench. “Though, I was never willing to give her more than I did. I didn’t want her love, and I felt as if she didn’t deserve mine. What she did to Yunho only confirmed it.”

“There’s a few pointed things I would like to do to her for what she did to him,” a frown pulls at your features as clear venom coats your words. “To what she did to all of you.”

“Oh?” Hongjoong quirks his brow, curiosity shining in his gaze as his heart begins to pound beneath his chest. “Care to share, My Love?”

Your eyes briefly meet his own before drifting to stare intently at the fountain in front of you. You shift slightly in your seat, crossing your one leg over the other as you pull his hand further into your lap.

“I think tearing out her heart after cracking open her ribs one by one for easier access is a good start,” you reply, seemingly nonchalantly with a shrug.

The growl that escapes him is nothing short of pleased as a shiver runs down his spine.

“My Love,” he practically moans out the name, “you can’t just say something like that and not realize the effect you’ll have on me.”

You shrug once more, “you asked.”

“See, yet another reason I fall deeper in love with you each day,” he chuckles, and at the way your brow quirks at him, he smirks, leaning in closer to you as his voice drops to a mere whisper, “you’re always full of pleasant surprises, My Love.”

You giggle, and Hongjoong swears that it’s the most melodic sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“More violent than you were expecting?” You joke, another giggle escaping your lips.

“Unbelievably so,” he sighs, dreamily.

“You’d be surprised by the types of thoughts I can have,” you reply. “Or perhaps you all just bring out the best in me.”

“Not the worst?” This time, it’s his turn to quirk a brow at your choice in words.

“I think after being so passive for so long in my life I can have a little violence,” you hum. “As a treat.”

Hongjoong laughs, squeezing your hand in his as he feels your shoulders shaking along with his.

“You can have as much violence as you desire, My Love,” he grins, his eyes tinting with that all too familiar darkness as a happiness unlike anything he’s ever felt before swirls within. “I look forward to discovering all of your more violent thoughts in that pretty little head of yours. Always.”

“Perhaps you won’t have to wait much longer to find out,” you smirk, a teasing lilt to your voice.

Another pleased growl escapes him, and you feel him pull you closer into him, causing you to sit upright once more as he turns his head to look at you.

“That’s a very dangerous admission, My Love,” his voice is low as his eyes flick down to your lips, tongue darting out to wet his own in the next second. “Are you sure you want to tempt me like this?”

You lean into him then, free hand coming up to cradle the back of his neck. Your fingers tangle in his locks as you do so, and you do not fail to notice the pleased rumble that echoes throughout his chest and reverberates through your own.

“What am I, if not tempting?” You grin, a seductive pull of your lips as your grip tightens in his hair.

“You are the greatest temptation I have ever known,” his admission is but a whisper against your own lips as he leans in that much closer to you, yet never so far as to make you uncomfortable.

“Then, how sweet it will be when I finally let you indulge,” the smirk that pulls onto your features is deadly, voice low as your own gaze darts down to his lips for the briefest of moments.

However, before Hongjoong can even so much as pose the question that he has always wanted to ask you, you’re pulling away. A knowing look graces your features in a smug pull of your lips upwards as you turn to face the fountain once more. Your hand releases its grip on his hair to reach across and pat at his knee.

“All in due time, Joong,” you hum. “All in due time.”

Despite the feeling swirling in his chest at not being able to kiss you quite yet, there is a glimmer of hope shining behind his eyes. Already, you have allowed him to hold you like this for much longer than he could have ever imagined, your hand still being firmly held in his own. Plus, your words serve as a promise to him of what is still yet to come. A fact of which could not make him any happier than he is in this moment here in time with you.

“May I be honest with you?” Your voice pulls him out of his own thoughts of leaning in to place a tender kiss onto your cheek.

“I would love nothing more, My Love,” comes his gentle reply.

“When you first told me about Miyeon, and how you never cared for her, I was worried,” you sigh, diverting your gaze to the ground as the words fall from your lips. “I feared that you were playing me for a fool, and only making me believe that you were in love with me for some ulterior motive.”

“My Love, I would never-“

“Please, Hongjoong,” you cut him off as you look back up to meet his gaze once more. Nothing but a soft fondness shines there, and it eases a tension from his shoulders that he hasn’t realized he’s been holding onto this entire time. “Let me finish.”

He nods his head, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out what that might be. You had already assured me you weren’t after my soul, and you vowed that you would never force yourself on me.” You tilt your head slightly as if contemplating your previous thoughts once more now. “You have never done anything which would warrant my immediate discomfort, and you went out of your way to make me feel comfortable. Anything and everything I could ever want or need, you provided, even if I was being stubborn or I didn’t deserve it.”

You can see him about to protest yet again, but you shush him by placing a finger of your free hand against his lips.

“Your actions alone spoke for themselves,” you continue, and you watch him blink once at you. You lower your hand. “No one in their right mind would bother to put on such a dedicated act for so long. I can always feel the sincerity of your words every time you speak to me, and this past hour alone with you has just confirmed what I’ve already known. Please believe me when I say that I believe you. To me, you do not seem like the type to lead someone on, nor take more than what you yourself are willing to give. I think that’s one of the things I appreciate most about you. Your integrity has never made me doubt your intentions for one second.”

“My Love,” his eyes shine with that all too familiar fondness you are so used to seeing from him.

“I can tell just from the way you look at me that you have never been dishonest with your emotions,” once more, your hand comes up to cradle the side of his face, thumb gently stroking the skin right below his one eye. “You cannot fake that.”

“Never,” he breathes, gaze locked onto your own as his eyes search for any signs of hesitance or discomfort from you. He finds none. “Not to you. Never you.”

“You have spent every day since I got here proving your love for me, and I will never forget that,” you say, voice a mere whisper on the wind as you look at him with such tenderness in your eyes, that he cannot help the way his breath hitches in his throat. “I may not be able to say the words you long to hear from me quite yet, but I can tell you this,” Hongjoong holds his breath as you meet his gaze, “I am starting to fall for you, Hongjoong, and it most certainly is not a bad thing.”

It’s as if his entire world has stopped, a warmth flooding his veins as this moment here in time washes over the both of you. Your words have him recalling the very last thing you said to him when you both were previously in the garden together, and he cannot help the way tears begin to spring to his eyes once more. You have just made him so incredibly happy, that Hongjoong feels as if he could let out a roar that would shake the very foundations of the earth. This shared moment with you is so intimate to him, reassuring him in the best of ways, and giving him such hope, that he wants to revel in this feeling forever.

Hongjoong doesn’t even realized he’s moved to caress the back of your neck until his eyes are refocusing on the scene before him. The way he can see you staring at him, eyes full of affection as a soft smile paints your features, sets his heart racing inside his chest. That all too familiar warmth blossoms within him, spreading outwards until he can feel the tips of his very fingers tingling at your slightest touch.

His eyes glance down at your lips.

“My Love,” his voice is rough, raw from the pure emotions running through his very being as this moment washes over him and settles deep within the core of his soul. “Thank you-“ his breath hitches once more in his throat as he pulls your intertwined hands to his chest so you can feel how his heart is pounding inside his chest. For you, and you alone. “There are not enough words in all of the tongues of this universe to describe to you what this means to me, what you mean to me.”

“You don’t have to,” you squeeze his hand, the fingers you have cradling his cheek pressing against him the slightest bit more. “I understand, Hongjoong. You have made me believe.”

“My Love,” his words are strained, throat tightening as his emotions consume his very soul. He swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he glances down at your own, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Can I-“ he breathes, voice low as he leans in that much closer to you. “May I-“

Hongjoong struggles to get the words out, partially due to the emotions swirling inside of him this very instant, but also due to the fear of you possibly pulling away from him if he’s pushing things too fast. He doesn’t want to scare you away again.

“Do you want to kiss me, Captain?” There’s a hint of a teasing lilt to your voice as the corner of your lips quirk upwards.

“Yes, please,” he practically moans out, a shudder running throughout his entire body at the significance behind this moment. Not to mention your very words, of which have him tingling with a desperation for you unlike ever before. “More than anything.”

“Then, kiss me, My King,”

His lips are on yours before you even finish getting the words out, and you can feel the way his pleased growl reverberates against your skin as he pulls you in closer. His grip is desperate as his hand supports the back of your neck, cradling you to him gently as he holds you carefully in his grip. Everything that he is, everything that he feels, he pours into this kiss, loving the way he can hear your breath hitch as he deepens it.

His whole body begins to tingle. Hongjoong can feel the heat from your hand on his cheek, as well as the way your grip tightens around his own as he holds your intertwined hands against his chest. His heart is beating erratically as he feels your fingers move to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer into you as you let out the sweetest of whimpers into his mouth. A sound which he greedily swallows, wanting to hear even more, and all just for him.

This is everything he could have ever wanted, and so much more as he feels his chest rumble with another pleased growl. He knows his eyes have long since bled black beneath his lids as he holds you to him, revelling in this moment for as long as he can. The way your lips feel pressed against his own, tongue languidly stroking against his, has a heat unlike anything he’s ever felt before flooding his entire being.

All too soon, you’re pulling away from him. Only, now, Hongjoong craves more. Taking this opportunity, he places a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth, moving to trail his lips down your jawline before beginning to nip at the skin of your neck. The way you seem to tilt your head back the slightest to give him easier access has another pleased rumble building in his chest.

More. More. Hongjoong wants more. He craves it. That all too familiar beast begins to snarl within him, begging him to claim you like he’s long since desired, to make you his in every possible way that he knows how. At the way you hum as he bites down on a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, he finds it even harder to control himself at this very moment in time.

The feeling of your fingers gently tugging at the hair on the back of his neck pulls his attention away from you just long enough for you to part his lips from your skin. A giggle escapes you as he meets your gaze, eyes swirling with that all too familiar darkness you’ve become so used to from him as a soft pout tugs at his lips.

“How about we save that for later, yeah?” You chuckle, a grin painting your features as you watch his eyes shine.

“As you wish, My Queen,” he hums, words but a growl on his lips.

Slowly, your hand moves back to cradling his face in your palm, thumb gently stroking along his cheek as he leans into your touch once more. Hongjoong’s own hand releases his hold on the back of your neck in order to rest along the top of the bench once more, fingers dancing lightly along the skin of your shoulders. His eyelids flutter closed.

“I love you,” he breathes, turning his head once more to place a kiss onto the skin of your open palm.

You smile as his eyes flutter open to meet your own, “I believe you.”

Another comfortable silence settles around the both of you as you bask in each other’s presence. You shift yourself so that you’re leaning against his side yet again, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders as you rest your head on his. Nothing could make you both happier than you are right now.

For an hour, the two of you sit like this, chatting idly while keeping your voices low. Neither of you want to disturb the moment you have created here together, perfectly content to stay wrapped up in each other’s embrace like this for as long as the other will allow.

You don’t quite remember when he started, but Hongjoong has begun to play with your fingers, threading them through his own and tracing patterns into the skin on the back of your hand. It’s quite calming, and you can feel tingles shooting up your arms wherever he touches. A pleasant, albeit new sensation to you. One which you could very much get used to without a second thought.

“We have another council meeting coming up in a few days,” he says after a brief moment of silence. “Are you going to be okay on your own again, given everything going on?”

“More than okay,” you smile, turning your head to place a gentle kiss onto his jawline. “Thank you for asking.”

“Nothing can get passed our wards, regardless,” he assures you.

“I believe you,” you chuckle, settling deeper into his side. “Though, I’m curious what this one will be about.”

“Probably more complaints about issues that could solve themselves,” he mirrors your chuckle, an overdramatic sigh escaping him in the next moment. “You’d be surprised at how many of our subjects cannot make their own decisions.”

“Sounds like every other person I know,” you join in on the teasing. “Though I can’t imagine the shit you all have to deal with.”

“It does get repetitive at times,” he admits. “Though, I think the worst is when certain demons ask if they can plant crops on their own lands.”

You blank as you look up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” he sighs, an exasperated chuckle escaping him in the next second. “Though, with how the last meeting went, I’m sure the clans have found the rest of the traitors, and just want us to condemn them.”

“Traitors?” You quirk a brow.

“The reason there was blood on the floor that one morning after we returned,” he replies, and he notices the way you nod slightly in response.

“Wait, you mean you guys didn’t kill them all?” Your brow furrows as you push yourself the slightest bit away to look up at him.

“We could have,” he shrugs, “but then we wouldn’t have any left to condemn and make an example out of when the time is right.”

“Fair enough,” you hum, resting your head back onto his shoulder. “As long as you’ve destroyed their leader, and haven’t made them into a martyr, the cause should be lost.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you can just tell he’s contemplating your words.

“You have destroyed their leader, haven’t you?” Your eyebrows raise considerably as you wait for his response.

“If I’m honest, My Love, we never even bothered to learn who it was,” he replies. “We wouldn’t be able to tell you if we killed them or not when we slaughtered the majority of them that one night.”

“Okay, well,” you tighten your grip on him slightly, “just be careful. I don’t want to see any of you get hurt. Especially not when we have Miyeon to deal with.” Then, as if realizing something, a worry takes over your features. “She won’t be there, will she?”

“No, no, of course not.” He’s quick to assure you. “Her clan knows what will happen to her and them if she so much as dares to show her face to us at a council again.”

“Ah,” relief washes over you, even if he can still sense that wisp of fear lingering in your grip, “I see.”

“Your concern for us all means more than you’ll ever know, My Love,” he hums, eyes shining affectionately as he looks over at you still resting against his shoulder.

“I care about you guys,” you repeat your words from earlier in the day, noticing how his throat bobs as he swallows his emotions for the time being. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I promise that we will all return to you safe and sound,” Hongjoong smiles softly, bringing your intertwined hands up to his lips to place a gentle kiss onto the back of yours.

“You better,” you grin teasingly. “Otherwise, I’ll gut you myself.”

A pleasant shiver races down his spine as his eyes shine. “Is that a promise, My Love?”

“Violent thoughts, remember?” You flick a brow at him, amusement shining in your eyes as you see him mirror your grin.

“But of course,” he leans in to rest his forehead against your own. “How could I ever forget such delightful fantasies of yours?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” the smirk that tugs at the corner of your lips is deadly, and Hongjoong can feel another shiver of pleasure racing down his spine.

“I look forward to the day you allow me to indulge in them with you,” his words are but a gentle caress against your skin, despite the darker undertones of such a lingering promise.

“All in due time, Joong,” you breathe. “All in due time.”

Another hour is spent together conversing softly between each other in the garden, and simply basking in one another’s presence. As soon as the sun begins to set, a calm washes over the both of you, though Hongjoong is a bit disappointed your time together has to end. Still, the fact that you allow him to walk you to your room, hand still held firmly in his own has a feeling unlike any other spreading throughout his entire body.

You do not invite him to stay with you, but you do place another lingering kiss to his cheek as you bid him a goodnight. You do seem slightly more tired than usual, so he doesn’t want to push you any further than you’ve already gone today. You’ve opened yourself up to him in ways he’s only ever dreamed about, and for that, he could not be more grateful, or fall any more in love with you than he already is.

Placing a gentle kiss onto the skin of your knuckles, Hongjoong slowly and reluctantly lets go of your hand. He watches as you retreat into your bedroom for the evening, sending him a final soft smile as you shut the door behind you.

Soon. He tells himself as he begins to make his way back down the hallway and to his own room for the evening. You’ll be falling asleep in his own arms soon.

Hongjoong simply cannot wait for that day to come, and he knows that once it does, it will be all the more sweeter. Today already went better than he could have ever hoped, and the fact that he was able to ease your worries like he did makes him so unbelievably happy. You admitted to him yourself that you’re already starting to fall for him. Now, all there’s left to do is wait, and Hongjoong is more than happy to do so. After all, once you fall, he will be there to catch you with open arms, that all too familiar loving smile on his face when you do.

The skin of his lips begins to tingle as he recalls the feeling of your own pressed against his.

Soon. You will be his soon. He’ll make sure of it, even it it’s the last thing he ever does.

[taranida]

The first (probably? maybe?) book Alan Wake forgot he had written

Always, Alan, always.

Alright, in my last post I left a few questions unanswered and I want to clear them up one by one. I honestly didn’t believe that so many people would read the theory, and am very grateful for the attention it has received. This whole blog was created to write down everything my brain (and my dear fellow theorist J) cooked up after playing and replaying AW, AWAN, Control and AWII, and I would like to sort it all by writing about each point in details. It helps to make it make sense and notice the holes.

Now, let’s cut to the chase. The first point I mentioned last time was:

in the guide for the first game we can read excerpts from the book “Taken by the Dark Presence” found in a shoebox that has no author, but has initials of T.Z. and J.Z. on some pages, apparently written in the late 1960’s. And, oh boy, I have lots of questions for this one!

I will lay out what I’ve found and then my thoughts about it, and also how it all ties to “who wrote what”, because the buzzing question of “who wrote whom”is not something I’m interested in exploring atm. At least not until I will deal with the whole “Thomas ‘Tom’ Zane” mystery.

So, the book from the shoebox titled “Taken by the Dark Presence”. It’s filled with tips and tricks about enemies that we encounter on Alan’s journey and how to deal with them. Obviously, there is a lot of info, but I’ve chosen bits that are important for my purposes. Here are those excerpts from it:

It is stated, as you can see, in the introduction to this section of the guide, that focuses on fighting the Taken and Poltergeists, that the information is drawn from the book of an unknown writer, who composed it in the late 1960, with a little hint of initials and a huge hint of the POV being Thomas Zane’s: “corporeal form is my Barbara. My dear, sweet love.”

It does go against my theory of Thomas spending a week with Barbara-the-Dark-Presence in the cabin, not going outside to face Taken; after all, the info there is a text book of “tell me it was written by Thomas Zane without telling it”. If not for mentioning the Dark Presence wearing Barbara’s skin, it would be fine on that account; we have strong evidence that Taken were lurking around even before Thomas wrote his piece to bring Barbara back. Yes, Robert “The Colonel” Hambleton’s article will be repeated here:

And the end result of the poor writer’s visit:

All point to Thomas actually being in the midst of fighting and fleeing, although I cannot even start guessing for what and from what, I will again stress out two pieces of information that point to the Dark Presence playing the role of the loving Barbara, as it was written by Thomas:

And Cynthia’s words:

“The witch looked like her, but it wasn’t. Barbara was sweet. He didn’t understand until it was too late. He tried to undo it, wrote himself, her, everything he’d ever written out of the world.”

Thomas, as we can guess, didn’t understand who hid behind Barbara’s face for some time, and, when he did, was free to tie her, carve her heart out and write this secret poem, mentioned in “This House of Dreams”, that allowed him to escape, giving up his body to the Bright Presence, and drag the real Barbara’s essence (soul, spirit) with what was left of him into a safe heaven, their personal paradise. So, why would he run into the forest and fight bulldozers and Taken?

He didn’t. There is one little thing that makes this book’s author surely not Thomas — the flashbangs. I’m in no way a weapon enthusiast, let alone, specialist, but I’m alright with search engines. As far as the history of this particular grenade goes, it was invented by the British Army in the late 70s and adopted by the US some years later. Thomas Zane, who lived only till 1970, couldn’t have knowledge, let alone, this very item on his hands at the time. Yet it’s clearly stated in the book: “flashbang attacks if possible” and “coax numerous enemies around you, and then drop a flashbang”. In the first game even Alan is surprised to find this weapon not in the police cars:

And he lives in 2010, when flashbangs are already a known weapon, although, as I understand are not so easily obtained by civilians (if not at all; I’m not from US and can rely only on the info from the internet). It seems as if this particular bunch of flashbang-nades was placed there by some otherworldly means.

Taking all that, my belief is that “Taken by the Dark Presence” is a book written into reality by Alan — to help him on his journey — after he decided to make himself a protagonist in the story the Dark Presence was forcing him to write. Through the “Writer in the Cabin” TV’s we see how he slowly changes his stance on his “editor”, how he realises that something is wrong and he must change the story, giving himself the best chance to survive to save Alice (and not to plunge the world into eternal darkness preferably). That will also explain the J.Z. initials on the pages of the book: Alan, during that week, was not thinking clearly and could just mess names up.

As a side note, I’m extremely new to tumblr and have no idea how people here get into conversations, for me the comment section is the way to go, but I see rebloggs with tags or ideas I would love to discuss and have no clue what to do with them. I would highly appreciate if anyone who wants to add something or chat about a post to make themselves known in the comments as well. Or a message; both are great.

[finalgirleddiemunson]

When I Write, Will You Answer? (Dream x Reader)

summary: you are a Messenger between realms. An eternity of sending messages to and from the Dreaming brings you closer to the King of Dreams. (wc 4.0k)

warnings: fem! reader (she/her pronouns), mentions of blood, a little bit angsty. let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: okay I know it’s not stranger things pls don’t murder me just look away. deeply inspired by @the-darklings​ ‘s series today i bury you in me which is truly one of the best pieces of fanfiction i’ve ever read. if you haven’t read it yet, please go and experience it. 

masterlist

-----

When the first dialogue between beings was shared, you were there. 

The universe unfolded you from her arms, realms lacing together to create you and those who would share your title. 

The names shared by you and your siblings changed throughout history, over the many eons of your existence. Hermes, Iris, Mercury, Nesta, Nuncio, Couriers of the Planes, Bearers of Good and Bad Tidings- all titles bestowed upon you. From your first waking moment the whole of the universe whispered to you two words- first a name. Your truest name. The second your title. Messenger.

And so you were. So you are. A Messenger to all.

---

“Messenger,” The Dream Lord regards you with a coldness that is a far cry from his sister’s kind eyes. You like delivering Death’s messages- she always sends them with a smile. 

You incline your head, a sign of respect. You have been the bridge between realms for too long to not understand the difference when formalities are a necessity and when you can relax. And in this moment you understand that the King of Dreams demands nothing short of perfection. 

“I have a message to be given to Delirium.” Even as he speaks, grains of sand flit through his palm, swirling, until they form together. The individual specks become whole, a black envelope, sealed with wax. 

The letter floats from his palm, as though guided by a gentle breeze, into your own hand. It does not escape your notice that he does not hand the note directly to you. The passing of objects from his hands to yours appears beneath him. 

What first appeared as a wax stamp you now can see looks like a small snapshot of the universe. Galaxies swirl and stars shine in the small seal. You cannot help the miniscule smile that upturns the corners of your lips as you gaze down at it. You know Delirium will enjoy this small rendition of the night sky- more so, she will be happy to hear from her brother in any capacity. 

“Does your job amuse you, Messenger?” The Dream Lord intones, eyebrows raised. 

You choose your words carefully, not wanting to lie but also wanting to say as few words to the intimidating being as possible. “I am simply happy to have the opportunity to see Delirium once again.”

“Happy.” You imagine that he almost sounds amused. 

But then the hem of his coat cuts through the air with a faint swish as he turns his back on you, going to ascend the staircase to his throne. You know a dismissal when you see it, so as quietly as you can, you make your way from the palace, placing the envelope into your bag for safe keeping. Off to deliver a message from brother to sister.

---

You do not sleep often.

It’s the nature of your job, you have to be ready and available when you are called upon- any moment’s notice could have you flitting between stars, sent to fulfill your purpose. 

So when you do sleep, you revel in it. 

Even more so when you dream.

 A field, as far as your eyes can see, dotted with every flower underneath the sun. You sit beneath the shade of a large tree, the sprawling branches letting only pinpricks of light filter down to you. 

“Messenger,” a familiar voice chills the air around you. “I see you are not here on business.” Dream’s black attire and pale skin cuts a striking image against the kaleidoscope background of colors in the field. 

“No,” You blink slowly, taking in his sudden appearance. “It would appear I am not. Forgive me for the intrusion, Your Grace. I fell asleep.” You berate yourself slightly for the foolishness of the last sentence- of course the Ruler of the Dreaming knows that you’re asleep. 

He scans the scenery around you. “This is your dream then. What you have chosen in the whole of the universe.” He says it as a fact, a certain scrutiny. Perhaps he is judging the stillness of the scene. 

“A place to rest. Is that not a fitting dream for someone made to always move?” 

He does not deign to give your observation a response. Instead his gaze settles down at you, something curious flashing behind his eyes. It’s gone before you can fully register it. 

“Until the next time you are called upon, Messenger.” He inclines his head slightly and then as you blink, he’s gone. A whisper of golden sand in the wind is the only evidence that he was ever there to begin with. 

You’re left with the sound of blades of grass gently rubbing against one another, the brush of the breeze through the flowers. You know enough about the Dreaming to know that a certain level of sentience runs through all of Dream’s creations, so as you lay back, the field a soft cushion against your back, you whisper to the flowers, “This is a lovely dream. Thank you for letting me rest here.” 

From where your hand rests in the grass, the leaf of a flower wraps gently around your finger, its softness gently encasing the digit. As close to a hug as this particular Dream is able to give you. You close your eyes and rest a little longer.

---

“Are all Messengers like you?” There is an amused bite to the Dream Lord’s voice. You would not notice if you did not have many lifetimes of studying his tone to compare it to. 

You huff, arms crossing over yourself as you meet his eyes- blue, the color of a cold winter’s morning. Your jaw sets stubbornly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Well, you would look a bit fiercer if you did not also happen to be dangling upside down- caught in a human’s strange Nightmare about being caught and strangled by sentient trees.

You hadn’t meant to get distracted when you went to deliver the latest message to Prince of Nightmares, but the creak of wood and booming voices of the talking trees had piqued your curiosity.  

“Return Messenger to her place on the ground so that she might fulfill her duties,” Dream calls out to the trees. They obey without hesitation, limbs for fingers depositing you without ceremony onto the ground. “It would do you well to not go seeking out trouble,” Dream advises, glancing you over. 

You stand and brush yourself off, fighting the heat from your face at your disheveled appearance. “I did not go seeking trouble,” You grumble. “It has been many years since I’ve spoken to the trees and received a response. I wanted to see if these were very much like their counterparts in other realms. However, I’ve learned that your trees are not very good conversationalists.”

The quirk of his lip is there and gone in a flash, but you can’t help how victorious you feel at having seen it at all.

Dream turns his gaze to the Nightmares lingering behind the two of you. The air around all of you chills. “Messenger is a guest in the Dreaming. See to it that all Nightmares know that there will be consequences should they interfere with Messenger again.” Now this is the King of the Dreaming speaking. His words are law and offer no room for argument. 

The trees nod their understanding, backing away to give you plenty of space as they lumber off past sight, apparently to spread the word. 

“That’s not necessary,” You don’t mean for the words to slip out. Your heart travels to the base of your throat, lodges itself there.  “I sought them out, they meant no harm other than their intended design.”

“They should know better,” Dream’s dry reply silences your wayward tongue. There is a moment of stillness between the two of you before Dream continues. “I would not have my best Messenger ripped apart by a rogue Nightmare. I do enjoy receiving my letters intact.” The lift of an eyebrow on his otherwise stoic expression gives away his teasing.

You can’t help it, you laugh. Your head throws back as you take in his words. “No, I don’t think I would enjoy that either,” you giggle, watching the Dream King as you shake your head. You remember your purpose, letting your laughter subside as you reach into your bag, presenting him with a letter. You let a small bit of magic carry it from your hand to his outstretched one. 

He inclines his head, dark hair falling along his forehead. “I shall see you soon, Messenger.”

You're not sure why you do it. Why it is this moment. But you nod your own head back to the Endless before you and say one word in return. You give him the first name you ever received. Your name. Not Messenger.

Dream of the Endless studies you for so long you grow nervous. You wish to take it back, to snatch the name that so few know back to you. Hold it close to you where the horrendously intimidating being before you cannot judge it. 

But instead of a scoff or a turn of his coat as he walks away from you, your name echoes back to you as Dream repeats it. 

The twin stars of his eyes and the way he said your name burns you as you leave the Dreaming that day. 

---

You sense him before you ever open your eyes. 

“You know I love all of your creations, but this one is special- Don’t tell the others,” You hum, stretching in the sun of the Dreaming. 

Fiddler’s Green truly is a masterpiece. Your favorite place in the Dreaming is beneath the shade of the trees here and making friends with the flowers.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Dream drawls, standing over you. 

You squint up at him, shielding yourself from the sun so you can take him in.

“Would you sit with me, King of Dreams?” You ask because you expect a refusal, think that he will make a typical quip and leave you to return to his duties. 

His pause shocks you to your core. 

“Perhaps for a moment.” And then the King of this realm crouches down, settling against the base of the tree to sit beside you. He is close enough to touch, yet he is universes away. You feel the birth and the death of stars in the inches of space between the both of you. 

You sit, side by side, in silence with Dream. The scent of wild lavender in the air. The edge of his coat brushing against your thigh. 

You smile. 

---

“You have been hurt.” There is an odd tone in Dream’s voice. One you have never heard before in your many centuries of knowing one another. It simmers in the air, leaving a bitter tang coating your tongue. 

You frown, hand raising to the golden blood spilling from the cut along your arm. The cut itself is shallow but long, slicing through the skin of your bicep. You hadn’t even noticed it in the moment that it occurred, in your haste to simply get away. 

“Ah,” you press your hand over the wound, knowing that soon the bleeding will cease and your skin will knit itself back together. The luxuries of quickened healing. “Well, you’ve heard the saying don’t shoot the messenger. Some people follow directions more closely than others,” your lighthearted tone does not mix well with the harsh lines of Dream’s brow. 

“I would ask of you a name,” Dream says. You can’t help the confused tilt of your head at his response. He inclines his head to the blood like golden ink staining your fingertips. His request clicks in your mind- the name of those who drew their weapon upon you. 

Your smile is soured, a brittleness to its edges. “My station prevents me from disclosing the names of those that I deliver and send messages to. Just as you would not want the words I deliver for you falling into unintended hands, I must maintain the privacy of others.”

A look of understanding passes over the Dream Lord. “I have often wondered what keeps the Messengers so…discrete.”

You nod just once, “Others before me tried to break our code. The realms were not kind to them.” The cut along your arm stings like fire as your skin knits itself back together slowly. You lower your voice, eyes falling to the marbled stone floor as you continue, your voice no louder than a whisper, “It is not that I wouldn’t tell you. And I probably have told you more than my order would care for. But, I…respect you too much to deny such a simple request without an explanation.”

You keep your eyes trained on his shoes as he steps closer to you. A square of black cloth, held delicately in pale fingers invades your vision. First, you think he is going to press the handkerchief into your open palm. You hold your breath, waiting for the brush of his fingertips against your hand. 

Instead he simply holds the handkerchief between the two of you, his hands displayed openly. 

“May I?” He asks. 

“Of course,” you agree without thinking. You’re not even entirely sure of the question, only that you would let Dream of the Endless do just about anything. 

The distance between the two of you becomes minute as Dream raises the cloth to your arm. His touch is a brand. He rewrites the atoms of your existence with the tips of his fingers against your skin. 

He drags the square of fabric up, up, up, cleaning away your blood. He is delicate around the now-closed cut, treating your wound as something fragile. 

How terrifying to be treated delicately. 

With your skin now cleaned of the evidence of your hurt, Dream waves the fabric one through the air and it dissolves into sand, swirling and returning to the dream stuff that it was made from. His hands then settle on either sides of your arms. 

“Thank you,” the words are caught in your throat. You force them out anyways.

“I would not see you hurt again. Should these patrons of yours trouble you again, know there is no order or law of the realms that would stop me from finding them.” Dream says the declaration as a fact, though his voice is low. His words are just for you. 

There is no expression of adoration that could begin to encapsulate the feeling growing in you. It festers in you, significantly worse than any physical wound that could ever be inflicted on you. 

You convince yourself it is the same wound in your heart that makes you imagine that Dream glances down at your lips before releasing you from his grasp. 

---

The wound of caring for Dream of the Endless only grows when he disappears. 

You have managed to quell your traitorous heart as well as you’re able. You have long accepted that you will take whatever part of Dream that you can get, and if that means letting your feelings live and die inside of you then so be it. For he is Endless, and you are just a Messenger.

You enter the Dreaming without a message, as you’ve taken to doing more and more often. The precious time that you have when not delivering letters is now spent here. Not always by Dream’s side, but it is rare to see one of you without the other when you are in the Dreaming. 

Which is why it comes as a great shock when you enter the throne room and are stopped first by Lucienne rather than the low rumble of Dream’s usual greeting or the appearance of his outstretched hand, ready to lead you to his next destination. 

The news of his disappearance brings you to your knees. 

You don’t have the mind to remember all of what happened next, but there are tales in the Dreaming that your cries reached the shores of Nightmare.

---

 A century later, the King returns to his kingdom with a crash and finds it much altered. 

While the changes to the Dreaming cause a great turmoil in the Dream Lord, there is one alteration that gives him pause. A pile of letters, stacked neatly in the crumbling seat of his throne. 

“They are from Messenger, my lord,” Lucienne tells him. Just hearing her voice again relieves him of some of his ache. 

The envelopes are not recognizable. They contain no sigil or markings to distinguish them- nothing save golden wax, sealing the paper shut.  

“And which of my siblings tried to contact me so often over the years?” Dream murmurs, most of his strength delegated to simply remaining standing. 

“No, you misunderstand, sire. They are from Messenger.”

Dream stills. A living statue amongst the rubble. 

Lucienne continues. “When she found out you were no longer in the Dreaming, she scoured the different planes for you. But, whatever magic had you… trapped shielded you from her. She started leaving these,” Lucienne gestures to the letters. “They are sealed with old magic. Only the intended reader may open them. I assume that is you.”

“My own subjects were convinced of my abandonment…but not Messenger…” Dream says, a confession to himself, as he sifts through them, finding the envelope that looks the oldest. He touches the paper. Indeed, old magic spills from it, rearing fangs as it feels his approach…and then stilling, recognizing the recipient, curling in on itself happily as the wax seal breaks beneath Dream’s touch. Your letter unfolds before him. 

Lord of the Dreaming, King of the Nightmare Realms, Prince of Stories, 

I hope one day you will forgive me for acting so informally as to write to you, Dream of the Endless. I am meant to be the deliverer of messages, not the creator. 

But if one day I am able to ask your forgiveness, it will mean that I am seeing you once more- and for the opportunity to see you again I can not find it within myself to feel ashamed or embarrassed. 

You are missed. Without diminishing the feelings of others, I dare say, by none so much as me-

Dream folds the letter, phantom pains clogging his throat. His eyes burn bright- two twin stars shining against the night. He cannot bring himself to finish it, not here, not now. He will take your words, gather them close to his chest and read them without onlookers, no matter how trusted they might be to him. 

Something possessive, yet gentle claws at the base of his spine. If you sealed your words with old magic, you truly meant for none but him to ever read these words and he will respect your wishes. 

“Thank you, Lucienne,” Dream finally calls over his shoulder, “For keeping these safe.”

“Of course, my lord,” Lucienne inclines her head, and knowing the Dream King far better than he would care to admit, she knows he must face this particular battle without her. She exits the room without further pageantry, leaving him with the fragments of yourself you wrote out for him. 

Dream picks up a different letter- like the first, the magic recognizes him, greets him as an old friend. 

Morpheus-

The sight of his name in your script nearly drains the last of his strength from him. His fingertips trace the curve of your letters. An involuntary exhale escapes him as he studies the shape of your handwriting. 

-Morpheus. Morpheus. It was once believed to be within the power of Messengers to call upon others by simply writing their name. I know this to not be true. If it were, you would be here-

Dream tucks the letter into his coat. He will read no more of your words now- he cannot afford to. Even now, the Dreaming crumbles around him, reminding him of his weakness. No, he will not seek you out until he is something worthy of the words you penned. Worthy of you. But still the paper burns him, sears through his clothing. 

And so Dream of the Endless goes in search of his tools. For the quicker he returns his realm and his power to their former glory, the sooner may he seek out his Messenger. 

---

The air is different when you enter the Dreaming this time. 

Many years ago, you stopped with the formalities of going through the gates upon every entrance, but this also means you encounter very few of the remaining residents as you make your way across the bridge to the palace. 

You enter the throne room. “Lucienne?” You call, reaching within your bag to procure your latest writing. “I’m just stopping by, I can’t stay. I’ll just leave this with the rest-” You stop short. Your pile of letters, carefully placed and maintained by the librarian, are all gone. 

“Messenger, you’ve returned,” Lucienne calls from the opposite side of the room. There’s a lightness to her voice that you have not heard in many years. It sinks in your stomach as though you’ve swallowed a stone. 

“Lucienne,” You begin, measured. “Where are the letters?”  You clutch the strap of your bag to quell the shaking of your hands. 

“Lord Morpheus has returned,” she responds. A simple explanation. Her relief, her happiness, is palpable. 

“I see.”

You hear her footsteps behind you, she touches your arm gently, steering you to face her. You are helpless but to follow her guiding hands- a leaf being thrown about by a gust of wind. 

“Is that not a cause for celebration?” Lucienne asks, her voice hushed as she meets your eyes. The tears that well in your eyes are traitors. 

“And is the Ruler of the Dreaming in the palace now? In this realm?” You know the answer. You want her confirmation. Lucienne’s gaze grows heavy at your question. You both know what you��re really asking. After all this time together, no one could understand more than the faithful librarian. 

“No. He is not. He went in search of his tools shortly after his return.”

“But not after seeing what I wrote to him.” Despair has her hands on you now- the feeling sinks into the marrow of your bones. “He took the letters with him, I believe. I do not know-”

“He has read my words and not sought me out. Not even a formal declaration to suggest that I return to my usual work within his realm.” You laugh, but it is a broken, wet thing. “I have been very foolish indeed, Lucienne. I spent too much time here, and dreams and wishes have muddled my thoughts. I built something in my head that exists only to me. I will not make that mistake again.” You wipe away a single tear that dares to betray you further, straightening your shoulders as you gaze at Lucienne. 

You see your own heartbreak reflected in the sadness of her eyes. “He was moved when he read your words- I saw it before he sent me away. He is much changed from his time away, he simply-”

“I would not ask you to make his excuses for him, my friend,” You interrupt Lucienne, no trace of harshness in your tone. “I forgot my place and overestimated our relationship. I must return to my duties.” You have seen the way the Prince of Nightmare can act when someone assumes more of his feelings than he is willing to acknowledge. You gently remove her hands from your arms, squeezing them once. 

You flee from the palace. For the first time in the eons of your place as Messenger, a letter sits without intention of delivery in your bag. It is the first time you have failed in your job. 

You convince yourself you must imagine the way it feels like the Dreaming stretches out to you as you leave. A cold brush to the back of your neck, the feeling of arms around your waist, trying to keep you there. Imagined things, surely. 

For why would your unreciprocated affection be welcomed anywhere near Dream of the Endless. 

[cyberrose2001]

Here👏🏻me👏🏻out👏🏻

Optima’s x fem Organic alien

Maybe she’s got liquid energon for blood.. small fangs and by average roughly 13 feet tall in her true form.. with slight electromagnetic psychic abilities.. but can’t use them often or for long periods of time, as she’ll pas out from exhaustion. And her species can camouflage into the main Organic Alien of whatever planet they reside in as a means to blend in.

but cannot keep up the form for long either.. she still Looks like herself, just as she would be if she were the native species of the world..

perhaps she gets rescued from being experimented on by a corrupt splinter group of the government, and just ends up Staying with the Atobots..

growing attached to them quite quickly, and even protective.. basically “mother hens” the whole lot of’em.. especially the humans in the team.. what she struggles with tho??

Her clear and obvious growing attraction to the ever serious Prime.. perhaps she questions how the whole team actually feels about her even being there to begin with.. especially with her jumping at every shadow that reminds her of her capture..

comfort, fluff & awkward Aliens feeling the feels.

TFP Optimus x alien!reader

Heya! Thanks for requesting. I had some trouble with this bc it’s a little too specific, but I’ve done a bit of a drabble for you, hope that’s ok. In future, if you’d like a longer scenario, just send in a more generalised ask :)

(and yes I saw your other ask! you can go by 🎃 as anon so I know who you are !)

Warnings: SFW/Fluff, mentions of trauma, non-human reader.

Word count: 372

- It had already taken you some time to get accustomed to Earth’s strange yet fascinatingly beautiful environment, and it had taken you even more time to learn how to blend in with the planet's indigenous population. You thought you were sneaky, blissfully unaware that a sinister organisation known as MECH had been eyeing you off.

- They had been spying on you ever since you landed and had set up a trap for you, a beacon that mimics the exact electromagnetic pulses of your species. And you, of course, being desperate and alone, fall for it.

- Luckily for you, MECH couldn’t contain you for very long, as you sent tidal waves of electricity through their security systems, rendering them useless. You had escaped, thank the deities, but not without severe trauma from ruthless experimentation. Thankfully, you ran into a group of Cybertronians infiltrating the base, investigating the sudden burst of energy.

- You were initially hesitant, receiving strange looks at your ‘not so human features’. At some point, you had revealed your proper form, and these bots instantly took you in as one of their own. You especially loved the humans, enjoying their questions and gleefully answering them. From then on, you had sworn to protect these creatures with your life, despite gaining some trust issues with the rest of their species.

- The kids weren’t the only thing you had become fascinated with. Optimus, the leader of these Autobots you’ve only heard legends of, was as stoic as he is gentle. You fell in love with him and your shared experiences with being a stranger on this alluring planet. And he, too, had begun to share the same enthusiasm for you.

- He’d talk to you about being captured and help you recover from your fears, gently holding you as if he was protecting you.

- If you ever got scared of shadows that reminded you of Silas creeping around every corner, Optimus would remove any light sources to distract you from painful memories. He’d keep you in his lap as well, reading Cybertronian poems for you. He’ll do everything he can to keep you safe until you find a way home, as much as that hurts his spark.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Cross-Checked ~ Chapter Seven

Andy Barber x OFC Leighton "Leia" Andrews

Summary:

Andy Barber is having the best year of his life. His game is on point. It’s gets to play with his best friend and his fiancé just... dumped him?!. 

Reeling from a sudden change in status, Andy decides it’s time to just focus on hockey. Until his best friend's sister comes out with news that rock the entire organizations world., 

Andy has always carried a torch for the untouchable Leighton but in her hour of need, is now the time to shoot and score or risk getting cross - checked again? 

Warnings: Cheating (but not by the MCs); slow burn; friends to lovers eventually; SMUT!; pregnancy; jealousy; handsome goalies, evil exes...

A/N: The tag list is open!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

Previous: Chapter Six - A Swift Kick In The Pants - Andy

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter Seven - A Little Boston Magic - Andy/Leia

Andy 

I’m trying really hard to not say anything.  

It’s physically painful to not say anything.  

But here I am, watching the girl of my dreams getting ready for a date. With another man.  And not just another man. One of my team mates.  

Jeremy Swayman.  

If I didn’t think it would end with me getting my ass beat by Ullmark or my defensemen or my forwards, fuck, basically the whole team, I would have sabotage this date and put Swayman in a ditch.  

Why do I say that? 

Because Jeremy Swayman is the worst when it comes to women.  He has puck bunnies climbing him left and right. The problem is, most women say he was sweet, and they understood that it was just a hook-up. No one talks about how degrading he could be. The things I have heard in the locker room; its like he is an overgrown frat bro.  

And my girl is going out with him.  

Fuck my life.  

I’ve stayed in my room tonight as she got ready.  I know that I cannot keep the scowl from my face if I try. Then I would have to explain why and you couldn’t pay me enough to let that information out. I’m reading in my room when I hear a knock.  “Yeah?” 

“Andy, can you help me with my zipper please?” Leia peaks around the door in a robe. “I can’t reach it.”  

Just kill me. Strike me down.  I don’t want see her in her dress. I don’t want to know what she looks like for a first date that isn’t with me.  “Sure Princess.”  I get up slowly and have her spin.  She lowers the robe for me to see the two flaps of her black dress. I reach for the zipper and accidentally run my knuckle down her spine. I think I hear a quiet moan escape her mouth and I work on holding back my own moan. Her skin is like silk, soft and warm and oh fuck, I have to fight the urge to kiss the exposed skin.  I pull the zipper up and step back. “All done.”  

“Uh, yeah, thank you.” She closes the robe and steps back. She takes a good look at my face and I know she can see something there.  “Are you ok?” 

“I’m fine. Just tired.” I give her a weak smile. I don’t want to do this right now.  I just want her to go because it fucking hurts to see how beautiful she is and its not for me. “Some of the guys asked about grabbing a beer so i might do that but get to bed early.”  

“Oh, okay.  Well I just need to finish up and I’ll get out of your way.”  

“It’s not a problem Princess.  Be safe and have fun.” I kiss the top of her head and she leaves.  Fifteen minutes later, I heard the doorbell and Leia climbing down the steps. I headed to my window. I watched as Jeremy opened the door for Leia, made sure she was in and went to the driver’s side and got in.  

I waited a few minutes before calling a car service. I can’t stay here tonight. I just need to drown my sorrows, but I can’t call Luke. I headed to a bar across town.  Hopefully, I can drink in peace.  

Leia 

I am nervous. I hadn’t been on a date in a long time. Bret barely took me out unless it was to impress someone. His clout was that I was the sister of an NHL player.  Whatever, he’s out of my life now, regardless of child in my belly.  

My child.  

This is such a fucked up situation but Andy was right.  No point in worrying about telling anyone unless it was going to be a thing.  This is not a thing yet with Jeremy. At least, I don’t think. I just like the attention.  

As Jeremy drives us to the restaurant, my mind can’t help but think of the way Andy looked as he was zipping my dress. He’s eyes were dark, almost lustful, as he ran his knuckle across my skin.  It was rough but it felt so good. It’s confusing. I mentally give myself a shake and focus on Jeremy.  

“I made a reservation at Grill 23.” Jeremy smile falters.  “Shit, I forgot to ask if you eat meat.” He swallows and looks back at the road.  

I giggle.  “It’s ok, I do eat meat. I’ve never been to Grill 23.” I smile at him.  “So, how was practice?” 

“It was good. Had some good stretches in butterfly. My hip was bothering me so the trainers updated my stretching routine.”  

“Butterfly?” 

“Oh, when we are down on our knees and our legs as splayed out, like wings.”  

I couldn’t help but giggle again. Goalies are so flexible. “Well, I’m glad you are taking care of yourself. Need you to help get the cup.”  

“That’s my plan, sweetheart.” Jeremy took my hand and drove with one hand. Its incredible sexy. “How’s the business going?” 

“It’s good, still building my client list. Got a couple of baseball players that Andy and Luke know to come on board, Adler and Storm.  And I have a meeting with the Patriots social media as well.” I was excited for the Patriots meeting. While the Bruins were the top in the NHL, everyone knew the Patriots. Even if I would never get to work with Tom Brady.  

“I know you’re gonna do great.”  Jeremy lifted my hand and he kissed my knuckles.  Ok, swoon.  

We pulled up to the restaurant and the valet opens my door. Jeremy takes my arm and we walk in. “Reservation for Swayman,” he told the hostess.   

She gave him a big smile, which made me dim a bit. “Mr. Swayman, welcome. Please, follow me.” Was it necessary for her sway her hips like that as she walked? Jeremy changes his hold on me, now linking our hands and intertwining out fingers. “Here you go Mr. Swayman.”  

Jeremy moves to pull my chair. “Here you go sweetheart.” I smile and sit before he takes the seat next to me instead of across. The hostess looks like she’s eaten a lemon now.  She hands over the menus and walks away. “Wow,” Jeremy said. “She must be jealous because I have the most beautiful girl in Boston having dinner with me.”  

I blush at his words. “Jeremy, stop.” He laughs and we move on with our date. He’s a perfect gentleman the entire time. He didn’t question when I said I just wanted water instead of a drink or when I passed on the oysters. That’s the down side of pregnancy. No alcohol or raw seafood.  

“Would you like to go and grab a drink, a coffee?” Jeremy is walking me out the door.  “There is a lounge around the corner. Listen to some music?” He’s face is hopeful. And then he smiles and I’m gone.  

“Sure, we can do that.” His smile grows and he holds my hand a little tighter.  

The lounge is dark, save the candlelight all around and the spotlight on the band.  Its a 40s band, playing old school tunes. We snag a table a he orders both of us a water.  “If you want to have a drink, its fine.”  

“Nah, have a game tomorrow and I don’t want to get bloated.  Besides, I don’t want to drink when you’re not. Is there a reason?” 

Fuck. Ok, just have to breathe through this question. “Umm, I had a bad experience with alcohol so I just don’t anymore.” I smile. “Lesson learned when I was underage.”  

“Ah,” Jeremy says. “Well, healthy body and all that.”  

The band starts up a slow song.  Jeremy stands up and turns to me.  “Could I have this dance, sweetheart?” 

Did I create this man with magic? It takes everything in me not to swoon. He’s perfect. I take his hand and he leads me to the dance floor. We dance slowly, my body is pressed close to his, hands on my waist. When he looks at me, I’m lost in his eyes. He raises a hand and caresses my cheek. “Beautiful,” he whispers.  

His lips are soft when they are pressed against mine.  

Andy 

I’ve been sitting at Red Line for a good two hours and Mike keeps me topped off. First thing he asked when he saw my face was whether I was driving or not.  He’s a good guy.  I mentioned taking a cab, he poured the first drink.  

How did my life come to this? I mean, I think I’m a catch. Women have no problem telling me how handsome I am.  I have more money than I know what to do with. I have friends and yet I have never felt lonelier. Maybe I earned Fiona finding someone else. I had been so focused on the captaincy that I lost focus on her. But I was doing it for our future. The future. When did it change to wanting to raise Leia’s baby with her and have my family? I guess it was always there. I knew what i wanted a long time ago.  

All I want is the one person I can’t have.  

I think I am on my third or fourth bourbon when i feel someone sit next to me. I ignore whoever it is because really, I am not good company right now.  

“Andy?” 

My head looks up to see Leia’s best friend Stella seated next to me. “Hey Stel.”  

“What are you doing here?” She has genuine concern on her face.  

“Leia’s out and I didn’t want to be alone in the house. I mean, I’m alone in life, so I guess should get used to it but not tonight.” I threw the drink back and waved down Matt for another.  

“Don’t you have a game tomorrow?” As Matt put down my refill, Stella picked it up and downed it.  

“Hey, that was mine!” I looked at her. “What do you want, Stella?” 

“I’ve been watching you and I got worried. The last time i saw you like this was...” she hesitates.  

“You can say it. Fiona.  The last time i was like this was Fiona.” Mike put a glass of water in front of me.  I looked at him questioningly.  

“Drink it and I’ll give you another,” he said. I sighed, flipped him off and downed the water. It felt good going down.  I looked at Mike and he poured another, which I kept from Stella this time.  I took a sip and looked back at Stella.  

“Talk to me, Andy.”  

“I can’t watch her date. I can’t watch her find happiness without me. Especially with him. He’s not a good guy but I can’t say anything because she’ll hate me.  I can’t have her hate me.I don’t want to lose her.”  I could feel my eyes burn with tears that I would not let out.  Like hell was I going to do that.  

“Oh, Andy. Why not tell her?” 

“How does she know?” I can feel myself pale. “Stella, you can’t... Fuck, how do you even know?” 

“Are you kidding me, Barber? Half the team knows that you have been into Leia for years. You are not sublte about it. Really, I’m surprised Luke hasn’t kicked your ass by now.”  

Fuck. I hang my head. “Then why doesn’t she like me back?  What’s wrong with me?  Fiona cheated, Leia ignores me.” Mike set another glass and I sipped it. “It has to be me right?” 

“Andy, you don’t see it, do you?” She leaned her head on my shoulder. “You’re catch. And trust me, we all know it. We just know who belongs to you and we’re waiting for her to get her head out of her ass.”  

“Who?” Stella made like she was locking her mouth. “I think you’re lying Stella.  But thanks.”  

We sat for a moment when Stella said, “you like her a lot don’t you?” 

“No,” I shook my head. “I’m in love with her.” 

Leia 

We pulled up to my house and I can see the house is dark.  Andy’s probably asleep; he said he was turning in early. As Jeremy killed the engine, I turned to him. “I had a great night.”  

“Me too.  Let me walk you to the door.” Jeremy climbed out and went to open my door.  We were at the door when another car pulled up to the house.  

“Stella?” I looked as she pulled into the driveway. She had someone else in the car with her.  “What are you doing here?” 

“Jeremy, oh thank god.  Can you help me?” She went to the passenger side and opened the door and I gasped.  

“What happened?” I watched as Jeremy helped Andy to his very unsteady feet.  I moved to the door to open it. “Put him on the couch.”  I turned to Stella.  “You went out with Andy?” My tone came out harsher than I intended.  

Stella took a step back. “No. I was hanging out with some of the trainers at The Red Line and when everyone left, I noticed him at the bar. He was four in, according to Mike. I tried to sober him up but he was too far gone already.  Mike helped me get him to the car. I was going to call Luke but thankfully Jeremy is here.” 

“Oh.” Why would Andy do this? I looked at him, passed out on the couch. “Thanks for taking care of him Stel.”  

“He’s my friend too, you know. I’m just glad I was there.” She turned and smiled at Jeremy. “Thank you for your help.”  

“Anytime, Stella. Sweetheart, can you handle him?” 

I nodded.  “I’m gonna leave him here and just put a blanket over him. Let me walk you guys out.” Stella waved as she walked to her car. I turned to Jeremy, who wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Jeremy.”  

“I’m happy you liked it. Can we do it again, soon?” His eyes, even in the dark, looked hopeful.  

“I would love to. Good night Jeremy.” I felt myself blush and look down.  

He tilted my chin. “Good night, sweetheart.” And he kissed me gently. God, this man can kiss. He pulled away and brushed my nose with his. “Talk to you later.”  He walked to his car and I went back in, closing the house.  I turned to Andy, who let out a soft snore. I sighed. I went to him, pulled off his shoes and threw a throw blanket over him.  I kissed his forehead.  

I want to know why he got drunk tonight, especially before a game day. Its so not like him.  

My phone chimed as i made it into my room. 

Stella: Talk to him. I think you would like what he has to say 

NEXT

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[thetargaryenbride]

Nail To The Coffin - S2 - Chapter 3

Warnings: brief mention of weed

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!Byers!Reader

Word Count: 5197

↬ “I don’t want to see you crying over me, ok?” asked Eddie as he lifted his eyebrows and pinched your cheek lightly, making you close your eyes as you let a breathy laugh escape your nose.

“I’m not making any promises.”

This one ↟↟↟….is not going to age well when we reach season 4 :’D…unless…

A.N: This is sort of a…bittersweet chapter. Beware. As always, please do make me know if I’ve written certain characters OOC and if you think there is something that can be corrected within the story. Thank you for reading. Hope you like it! 🖤 🥀

Masterlist || Chapter 2 || Chapter 4

Two months ago…

“Hopper?” you asked once you opened the front door and saw the man standing there, hat in his hands as he fiddled with it for a while before placing it back on his head.

“Hey, kid. I heard you just got back home and uh…I know you probably want to be with your family but I need your help with something. You think you can spare me some time?” he asked and you nodded.

“Of course! It’s no problem at all!”

You quickly followed him into his car and the two headed off down an unfamiliar road. You wondered what was it that he needed help with and then suddenly he stopped the car.

“I need to tell you something,” he spoke after a minute of silence and you arched a curious eyebrow.

And then he told you how he found Eleven in the woods months ago – around Christmas. He told you how he brought her to his grandfather’s cabin, set traps and everything in order to make the place more secure, and how he’s been hiding her from everyone because he was trying to work out a loophole and find a way to get her off the scientists’ radar. You were quiet the whole time he was speaking, trying to be understanding of the whole situation until you remembered how Mike, Dustin, and Lucas had been utterly heartbroken back when they believed she had died in order to protect them.

How utterly heartbroken you had been when they delivered the news to you after you had asked why Eleven didn’t come to visit you at the hospital.

And the last straw snapped.

“I cannot believe you!” you raised your voice. “You-you kept this girl locked for almost ten months? What is wrong with you!?” you waved your hands.

“What do you want to do exactly, huh!? Let her go out there and risk her being seen by those jackasses?!” he shouted back. “They are everywhere! They are like-like the goddamn plague!” he hit the wheel, making you flinch. He opened and closed his mouth, not knowing if he should apologize for startling you, and opted to run a hand down his face while you let out a huff as you rubbed your temples.

You had to admit he had a point.

“All right, but…at least you should’ve told us about it! We’ve been dead worried, you know? Especially Mike! The kid’s going nuts wondering if she’s dead or still alive somewhere out there!” you snapped and he sighed.

“Yeah, I can’t risk telling the others! Someone is just…bound to open their big mouth at one point and let it slip!” he countered. “I’m gonna tell them… just not now.”

“Then why did you tell me!?” you asked incredulously.

“Because you’re mature enough not to speak openly about her and control yourself!” he bit back. “And because…because I need your help, ok? There are some things that only a woman can talk about. She needs a female presence in her life,” he grumbled and you did a double take.

“I’m sorry? Do you mean… like, a period talk or something?” you bit the inside of your mouth as you tried to suppress a smile from breaking out and he sputtered, fidgeting a bit in his seat.

“Yeah, for one.”

“Why not tell my mom then?”

“Because she’s an adult and Eleven doesn’t know her. You are closer to her age so she’ll feel more comfortable and…she knows you. She trusts you. Whenever she speaks of wanting to see someone, she mentions mostly you and Mike,” he explained and a sad smile graced your features as the two of you sat in silence for a minute.

“Of course, I’m going to help, old man,” you reassured him at last and he let out a relieved sigh. “But you have to promise that you’ll find a way to fix this, ok? She cannot stay locked up inside forever.”

“Of course…I’m working on it, kid… I’m working on it.”

Sunrays peeked through the blinds on the windows, hitting your face and making you groan as you tried to escape them. You snuggled into something warm and it helped to some extent. But then you came to the sudden realization that this warm thing was not a soft blanket.

It was solid.

And breathing.

Your eyes snapped open as you shot up in bed, looking frantically around you. You let out a choked gasp when Eddie’s sleeping form entered your vision. The bouncing of the mattress jerked the boy out of his sleep and not long after, his eyes were fluttering open and focusing on you.

The two of you stared at each other for a while before awkwardness began creeping into the atmosphere and you cleared your throat, slowly slithering out of the bed.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I think…I think I passed out after stupidly mixing up weed and alcohol,” you gave him an awkward smile and his lip twitched as he let out a quiet laugh through his nose.

“Yeah, no, I gotcha. It’s ok,” he spoke groggily as he sat up. “Happens to the best of us,” he scratched the back of his head, running his hands through his hair and mussing it up a bit.

“Uhm, I’ll just…I’ll go take a shower and then I’ll make some breakfast,” you informed him with a tight smile and he nodded after which you grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom.

You cursed silently as you got rid of your Halloween costume that was now all wrinkled and smelled of weed and quickly got under the shower, the warm water feeling refreshing as it cleansed your body from any filth and smell.

Last night, Eddie dragged you away from the party after the little incident with Tommy and brought you to his trailer where the two of you listened to rock and metal, he played guitar and taught you some tunes, you drank beer, and smoked some weed. You remembered falling into a depressive episode at one point and discarding all and any alcohol. You had been on the verge of crying when Eddie had reassured you that you were nothing like your father. He had hugged you and spoken to you and then you blacked out in his arms only to wake up…in his arms.

“Gosh, this is so embarrassing,” you muttered as you wrapped a towel around you and began brushing your teeth with the spare toothbrush Eddie always kept for you.   

“Uh, hey, I got some clothes for you,” came Eddie’s voice from the other side of the door. “I’ve a spare pair of jeans…uh, clean underwear from the bag of spare clothes you left a couple of months ago,” he stuttered and cleared his throat. “A-and uh, a brand new t-shirt.”

“Thank you so much. You’re a life savior,” you opened the door just a bit so he could shove the clothes through and you grabbed them.

You carefully rubbed off any dampness with the towel before discarding it and throwing on your underwear and jeans. But when you unfolded the t-shirt, your eyes widened when they fell onto the familiar design Eddie had scribbled some time ago.

Hellfire.

You let out a gasp as you swung open the door and went into his bedroom.

“You did it!” you let out a squeal as you held the t-shirt in front of you, grabbing his attention and making him grin. “You printed it!”

“Well, it’s nothing too special, I mean, it’s just a white and black t-shirt with the print on it,” he rubbed the back of his head but you shook your head, giving him a proud smile.

“No way! I think it’s amazing! And the design is so cool! I’m just happy that you achieved what you wanted and finally founded the club!” you waved your arms subconsciously before dropping them down and his eyes widened comically as he sputtered and frantically tried looking anywhere but at you, making you scrunch up your eyebrows before realization hit you.

“Shit! Sorry! Uh…just, hol-hold on a second,” you stuttered as you hastily put on the t-shirt and straightened it up. “Ok! You can look now!” you let out a sharp exhale and he cleared his throat before obliging. “I’m really sorry,” you gave him an apologetic smile and he laughed breathily.

“N-no, it’s…it’s ok.”

“You can use the bathroom now. I’ll go make breakfast in the meantime,” you gave him one last smile before you headed for the kitchen, shutting your eyes and biting your lip in embarrassment as you walked briskly.

Eddie let out a quiet groan as he watched you walk away, his hands flying to cup his face as he whispered a ‘Fuck’ before he rubbed his face in frustration and rushed to the bathroom so he could take a cold shower.

“So, uh…I made French toast with jam and scrambled eggs with bacon. It’s not much but it’s some fuel,” you told him once you heard his footsteps get closer, back still turned on him because you didn’t have the courage to face him yet.

He leaned on the doorframe, taking in the sight in front of him, eyes softening and filling with love and admiration but these emotions were quickly squashed by contemplation and hesitation. 

“Sounds great, though,” he finally spoke, trying to keep his usual attitude, as he kicked his feet off and walked towards the table, plopping down on a chair. You let out a sigh at his typical, joyous tone, the awkwardness dispersing a bit and you finally turned around to face him.

You gave him a smile as you put some food on his plate and then on yours. You put the pan in the sink and joined him as he began digging in.

“I have something to tell you, by the way…I wanted to do it yesterday but…I kinda forgot,” you began the conversation and he lifted his eyebrows.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Well…you are currently standing in the presence of the new member of the cheerleading squad!” you exclaimed and his eyes widened.

“They invited you to join?”

“Oh, wow, thanks for believing in me,” you rolled your eyes with a smile and he let the fork down, leaning on the table to give you his full attention.

“You realize they only want you because you hang out with Harrington and because-“

“-I got accepted in a prestigious university and survived a ‘bear attack’, yeah, I know,” you quipped. “But look…the thing is…if I manage to get closer to them…who knows maybe I can start something good. You know… the beginning of change.”

“What do you mean by change?”

“Like, I can change their opinions on some stuff, ya know. Like for example that just because someone likes the fantasy genre, listens to metal, and dresses a bit differently, doesn’t make them a freak,” you shrugged and his eyes softened although there was skepticism swimming deep inside.  

“I’m not sure that people who are set in their ways can be changed that easily.”

“Maybe, maybe not… We’ll never know unless we try, right?” you shot him an encouraging smile.

While you loved the idea of dancing and cheering for Steve and wearing a pretty uniform with glittery pompoms, the main reason why you decided to accept the offer was because you wanted to get closer to the most popular girls, hoping to slowly be able to change their views on things. Many people at school followed the example of the popular students like little sheep. It was a blessing and a curse, depending on what kind of views the populars had. In Hawkins High’s case, it was sort of mixed. It wasn’t a hopeless situation but it needed some work. For the sake of Will, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas, you hoped that you’d be able to change some things before you graduated.

“You know… I wish we could share more moments like that,” spoke Eddie suddenly after you had finished the rest of the breakfast in silence and you looked at him in confusion.

“Like what?”

“Like that,” he shrugged. “Enjoying time together…just the two of us,” he muttered, focusing on the table as his fingers played with the rim of the tablecloth and then he abruptly paused as his eyes widened, suddenly being painfully aware of what he had just said, body tensing and blood running cold in his vessels.

Your eyes also widened, face blanching as his words and expression registered in your mind and awareness crept into your heart.

“Eddie-“

“No, man, don’t,” he cut you off, his eyes shutting and face contorting in regret and visible embarrassment, “-don’t say anything,” he stammered out as he lifted his hand off the table before dropping it back down, his rings hitting the wood causing a loud noise that made you flinch. “I know what you’re thinking. We don’t…need to have the whole conversation or whatever,” he huffed as he ran his hands down his face and you frowned.

“No, Eddie, you usually run away and hide when you’re upset or when you have to deal with something serious like this. But this time I’m not gonna let you shut down. We’re having this talk.”

“And what do you want me to say?” he snapped as his eyes shot to look at you, lips tightened as he gnawed on the inside of his mouth. “You want me to say that I’ve… felt this way since I fucking met you?” his eyebrows shot to his hairline as his wide, panicked eyes pierced yours. He fidgeted in his seat and then looked away, letting out a heavy, shaky exhale, making you bite your lip and clench your hands into fists, nails digging painfully into your skin. But the physical pain couldn’t distract you from the heartache that was shattering you from the inside out.

“Eddie-“

“You know, it's fine,” he looked at you then and gave you a pained smile. “I know that you love Harrington,” he rapidly fired out and you shrunk in your seat, cheeks heating up, “so don’t… feel like you have to return my feelings, ok? Just…just keep being yourself, hm?” his tone softened as his lips twitched a couple of times as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to keep up the painful smile or just allow himself to frown. “I’m fine with… loving you from afar,” he gulped as he finally confessed and your whole body tensed even more, eyes welling up with tears as your mouth opened and closed, not knowing what to say. 

“Eddie…I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” his hands hit the table lightly as he jumped to his feet and paced a little, swinging his arms back and forth before he neared the sofa, his back still turned on you. “You know, this was actually weighing me down for a long time… So I’m kinda…glad that I lost control for a second there and blurted this shit out,” he snorted lightly. “Cause now I feel a bit lighter and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to…move on easier,” he let out a sigh then sharply turned around to face you, leaning on the sofa and putting one leg over the over as one hand went to grasp his upper arm, fingers clenching and unclenching around the thick fabric of his clothes. “I want to keep being friends…if that’s ok with you?” he tilted his head and your fists loosened as you went to aggressively wipe your eyes before the tears could escape. You stood up from the seat and took a deep breath before finding the strength to give him a smile, albeit a sad one.

“Of course, I want to keep being friends, you dummy,” you told him softly and he smiled.

You approached him slowly, all fidgety, your hands wringing as your fingers scratched, pinched and pulled at your skin and you wondered if what you wanted to do was smart. Before you could reach a conclusion you were already standing in front of the boy and pulling him for a hug. He stood there frozen for a couple of seconds before his arms slowly moved to engulf you and return the hug.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his shoulder and he let out a weak chuckle.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You parted then and looked at one another before he went to wipe a stray tear off your cheek that had escaped you in your frantic attempt to dry your eyes.

“And I don’t want to see you crying over me, ok?” asked Eddie as he lifted his eyebrows and pinched your cheek lightly, making you close your eyes as you let a breathy laugh escape your nose.

“I’m not making any promises.”

“Well, ugh, you better do, otherwise I’m not driving you to school.”

“We came here with my car, though.”

“Shit, that’s right.”

The morning and lunch had passed fairly quickly and before you knew it, the classes were over and it was now time for your first cheer practice. You had met Tina and Margot and the three of you skipped to the female dressing room at the gym where they gave you your uniform.

You smiled at yourself in the mirror as you observed the cream, green and marigold colors that you now wore. It looked nice on you. Very neat.

Shortly after, other girls began piling in and getting dressed, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Each one came to introduce herself to you and you did the same as you joined the talk. It was sort of refreshing to talk about mundane stuff or gossip considering that the past year was spent in dark corners of your mind or discussing depressive things like trauma, panic attacks, nightmares and whatnot. It was nice to be able to talk about normal girly things.

“By the way, you’re not dating that freak, are you?” asked one of the girls and you scrunched up your eyebrows.

“Who?”

“The Munson guy.”

“Why would you think that?” you scratched your arm awkwardly and she shrugged.

“Well, last night at the party he dragged you away, and…everyone was kinda curious to know what happened afterward,” she smirked and you chuckled.

“Nothing, really. I dropped him in his neighborhood and he went home. So did I.”

It was a blatant lie but what were you supposed to say? Oh, we hang out, we drank, we smoked weed, I cried my eyes out and we both fell asleep in the same bed and then he saw me half naked.

Not suspicious at all.

“You do know that he…dragged me away from the party because Tommy was a jerk, right? There was no other…reason.”

“Fair point. Tommy is a dick. I would’ve left too,” hummed Margot as she focused on putting on more mascara and observed her look in her compact mirror.

“Although I’m not sure if Munson is a better company,” added Tina while tying her shoelaces and you held back a scowl.

“Why do you think so?”

“Well, his father for one. I’m not sure if I want to be around someone who was brought up by such a parent. I mean, you never know, right?” she asked the others agreed.

“Well, I don’t think we are defined by our parents,” you went into defense. “I mean, look at me. My father is a total asshole and a drunkard but I’m nothing like him.”

“Yeah but Eddie is actually selling drugs,” she countered knowingly and you shut your mouth.

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Well, uh… you do have a point about that but… trust me, he’s actually a very chill guy. I think that some of you might actually like him if you give him a chance. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna treat you, ladies, with more respect than half the guys at this school,” you gave them a smile and some of them chuckled while others remained skeptical.

The practice had gone very well. They had shown you the choreography they had come up with so far. It wasn’t that hard to memorize and apply and they had been impressed.

Chrissy and Lorelei were the sweetest of everyone and they were eager to get to know you and become your friends which you appreciated a lot.

“Hey,” called Steve as he jogged over to you while you were bending to pick up the jacket you had discarded.

“Hi!”

“I love those colors on you…It suits you,” he complimented after looking you up and down, admiring your appearance, and you smiled shyly, looking down at yourself for a moment before back at him.

“Yeah? Well, I’ll wear them more often from now on.”

“We’re like, teammates now, aren’t we? Super cool,” he grinned but it wasn’t his usual bright grin or teasing grin or any other typical Steve grin. It felt like his energy was a bit off today.

Duller.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you asked and he looked away, sighing.

“I, uh…it’s a long story.”

“Does it involve Nancy?” you lifted a brow and he nodded.

“Mhm…”

You looked around and saw that the girls were nowhere to be seen which meant they had headed to the female dressing room while most of the boys were coming into the gym which meant that the male dressing room was probably empty.

“Come with me,” you grabbed his elbow and tugged lightly. He scrunched up his forehead in confusion but followed you nonetheless.

From afar, Billy saw the interaction, and a frown formed on his face. He watched you drag Steve away and wondered what kind of relationship the two of you had. He wondered if he should confront you about it.

“Alright…tell me…what’s going on with you two?” you finally asked the boy after the two of you made sure there was really no one in the dressing room and sneaked inside, sitting on the benches.

“Uh, I don’t even know where to start,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Last night, she got very drunk. You were there when she started drinking! I’ve never seen her like that.”

“Yeah, it was not very Nancy-like,” you agreed.

“I tried to stop her and she spilled her drink on herself,” he recounted and you cringed. Red punch on a white dress was not a good combination. “She got mad at me and escaped to the restroom so I…took the chance to go talk to her. Ask her what’s wrong.” He ran a hand through his hair as he let out a pitiful sigh and looked at you. “And she just said that everything was bullshit. She said that we killed Barb, that I’m bullshit, that we’re faking that everything is ok when it’s not, that our relationship is bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, and that shee…doesn’t love me,” he tightened his lips as a combination of pained, withering and humiliating expression formed on his face and you bit the inside of your lip as you gave him a pitiful gaze.

You felt sorry for him.

But at the same time, your heart began beating faster and something akin to hope began blooming inside of you.

“She was just…drunk, Steve. Maybe she didn’t mean it,” you hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, hoping to give him some reassurance but deep down you knew that when people got drunk they lost all filter and all control. They would tell things as they truly think them exactly because this self-control and filter thins under the influence. That’s the reason why you never got drunk around Steve because you were afraid you’d end up spilling something you shouldn’t.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” he muttered.

“Maybe you should go talk to her, hm? Ask her what she thinks now that she’s sober,” you offered and he nodded.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll do that later.”

After that, the two of you headed out of the locker room and back to the gym.

“Sorry, I can’t stay to watch the practice. I have to go pick up my brother. That was the deal since both of us have after-class activities today,” you told the boy.

Just when you were about to turn around and go back to the female locker rooms, someone strolled towards you.

“Yeah, sure, it’s no problem. See you tomorrow,” he smiled before jogging away.

“Well, that was interesting. I didn’t know you had that many boys wrapped around your finger. Yet you don’t want to give me a chance?” said Billy as he gave you a challenging look and you frowned.   

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? Even after last night’s party?” he shortened the distance, coming to stand right in front of you and you held your breath as he leaned in alarmingly close, your chests almost brushing, your cheeks flushing at the way he looked at you. There was just something about those blue eyes of his.

“What about the party?” you muttered as you tried to not look into his irises and he smirked.

“You have two knights in shining armor looking after you. I almost thought they were your boyfriends with the way they defended you,” he whispered and you could feel his breath hitting your cheek. “Now, I don’t know about the long-haired one but isn’t Harrington taken? It’s kinda suspicious that you’re dragging him in empty dress rooms to do who knows what.”

“What are you implying exactly?” you narrowed your eyes.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he chuckled deeply. “You’re supposed to be one of the smartest here, right? Figure it out.”

“I’m not-“ you raised your voice before you realized that there were people around, eyes darting to check if you had drawn anyone’s attention. “I’m not fucking Steve or trying to steal him or whatever twisted narrative you’re trying to push here,” you hissed.

“I’m not pushing anything,” he shrugged.

“Billy, don’t play games with me. I’m not in the mood.”

“That’s a shame,” he drawled as he got even closer to you, his hand suddenly moving to grasp the back of your head, fingers burying into your hair. “Cause I love playing games with you,” he smiled smugly as he looked at your lips, then into your eyes, fingers tugging at the bow that held part of your hair up and untangling it. He slipped it out of your locks and dangled it in your face before taking a step back and bringing the piece of satin fabric to his lips, placing a kiss on it.

“That’s gonna bring me good luck today when I kick Harrington’s ass in practice,” he grinned charmingly as he put the ribbon in his pocket and gave you a wink before slowly backing away. You just stood there frozen, not knowing how to respond to that, when he began jogging backward as he kept his eyes glued on you before turning around and joining his team.

You snapped back into motion, finally letting out the breath you were holding. You put a hand on your hip while the other went to fix your messed-up hair as you huffed in frustration.

Your focus shifted to Steve who was glaring daggers at Billy. Sensing your gaze, he turned to look at you, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head with scrunched-up eyebrows as if to ask ‘What’s his problem’ and you shrugged, pursing your lips. His expression turned into one of concern, asking if you were ok to which you waved your hand dismissively and nodded before bidding him goodbye and heading for the dressing room.

It was empty.

You took your leather jacket out of your locker, folded it, and buried your face in the fabric, letting out a muffled scream.

You took a deep breath and let out a long exhale as you started taking out your things from the locker. You looked at your watch, letting out a curse as you noticed that you were late and AV class was supposed to be ending very soon. Not having time to get dressed, you opted to stay in your cheerleading uniform and rushed to organize your belongings before grabbing your bag and bolting out of the building, briskly walking towards the neighbor one of the Middle School. 

Some people were going to be the death of you. At this point, you preferred battling a Demogorgon once again instead of dealing with boys.

But when you went to the classroom where AV club was held, you found it empty.

You put down your bag and rummaged through it, taking out your walkie-talkie.

“Hey, guys? Can anybody hear me? Where are you at?”

“Y/N!? What’s going on? Why are you calling?” asked Mike after a moment of silence and you tsk-ed.

“I’m supposed to pick up Will after AV class but there’s no one in here. Where are you?” you repeated the question and there was more silence before Dustin’s voice came through.

“U-uh, we’re just…we’re in the hallways!” he stuttered and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Which one?”

“East Wing!”

“West Wing!” Mike and Lucas spoke at once and you chuckled dryly.

“Ok, you do know that I can definitely tell you’re lying, right? Can someone tell me what in the world is going on and where is Will?!”

“Last I heard from him, he was at the bathrooms by Mr. Salerno’s,” said Dustin and you groaned.

“I’m going and he better be there. You guys have some explanations to deliver,” you grit out into the device before closing it and shoving it back in your bag before bolting out of the classroom and towards the bathrooms in question.

You were hurrying down the still-familiar hallways until you reached the one where the bathroom was located, noticing that Mike, Lucas, and the redheaded girl – who you supposed was related to Billy – were heading towards the bathroom as well. All of you met in front of the place before storming inside where you found Dustin at the end of the room, standing in front of a cubicle.

“Where’s Dart?” asked Mike and you did a double-take.

“I don’t know,” shrugged Dustin. “Not here.”

“What?”

“He said by Salerno’s, right?”

“Yeah, maybe Will has him.”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on!” you exclaimed as you waved your hands, drawing the kids’ attention. “What is going on here? What mess have you gotten yourselves into and who the hell is Dart?” you asked as you looked at each and every one of them and they looked at one another, gulping.

“Uh, it’s a-it’s a long story,” stuttered out Dustin and you huffed.

“Alright then, you’ll tell me all about it, after we find Will,” you quipped before whirling and exiting the place, the kids following close behind. “By the way, what’s your name?” you turned to look at the redhead who was walking by your side.

“Max.”

“Nice to meet you,” you sent her a smile as you reached a hand that she accepted for a handshake, returning the smile.

“Me too.”

[welurklate]

In defence of Ron Weasley - or: why Weasley is our King!

I have noticed that in the last decade so-called Ron-bashing has almost become a sport in the Harry Potter fandom, or at least in certain corners of the fandom. And that makes me quite sad, because in my eyes it is unjustified and a product of circumstances that have nothing to do with the canon character. People depict Ron as a laughing stock, a truly incompetent wizard who is nothing but jealous and petty. Even in fanfics where Ron is an adult he rarely outgrows his teenage character. I believe this has to do with a few thing I will get into here.

First and foremost, we have to take a stance and decide if we believe that redemption is possible or not. If you think that once a fruit shows signs of rot it is better to throw out than to salvage it, stop reading here. If you think there are parts that can be saved and possibly restored, you are probably a Draco fan as well ���� and you're welcome to read on.

So first of all, everything we see the characters do in the books they do as children and teenagers. Adolesence is a time of great changes, physically and psychologically. The prefrontal lobe of our brain still develops until our mid-twenties. It is a time to experiment and to make decisions, even if they are objectively the wrong ones, and to learn from that and to evolve into well-adjusted, open-minded and self-reflecting adults. So it isn’t even necessary to ‘redeem’ oneself for what you did growing up, it is just imperative to evolve. I have been working with teenagers my whole professional life and I am always amazed by what happens between the ages of 10 and 20/25.

So Ron is a child in the first books and an adolescent in the final parts and we actually see him grow and evolve. Not everyone is as perfect as Hermione and we sometimes forget that people can be flawed in small ways (not only in big ways such as ‘oops, I’ve taken the dark mark and commit war crimes’). I think people tend to hate on Ron because of this. He is so normal in his jealousy and his envy. We see a lot of ourselves in him and that is uncomfortable. We turn to fiction to experience the extraordinary in both good and bad, but we rarely want to see our very common shortcomings reflected in the characters. Because then we could just read self-help books and do something about it. But we don’t. We just want to escape reality and enter into worlds where everything is starker in contrast, emotions are deeper and stakes are higher.

And Ron is not such a character. He is a mild grey. He is not the hero, but he is also not the villain. Ambiguity and nuance have very little place in fantasy. But I think that is exactly what makes Ron such a great character and the books (despite JKR’s bigotism) so fascinating.

So what I see people do in fanfiction is to push his character to the extremes – mostly make him an antagonist. Interestingly, this usually occurs in in Dramione or Harmony fics. In Drarry fics or others where Hermione and Ron stay together, he usually gets to grow up into a reasonable and well-adjusted adult. And I get it. I love Hermione and I get what she sees in Ron (stability, a deep understanding, loyalty, common values, a wise mind that complements her academic one etc.). But in stories where we pair Hermione with other people we need to get Ron out of the way. Because we cannot, for the love of Merlin, make Hermione be the problematic one in the relationship (she is the queen of the books - she cannot be touched). So of course we have to make sure that Ron is the reason why their relationship fails. And to make their breakup believable, we antagonize Ron so that there is no chance for them to get back together. From a storytelling viewpoint this makes absolute sense. But it does not do Ron’s character justice. Canon Ron is a truly amazing character. The movies did him dirty and depicted him as the slightly stupid one with the punch lines and this has often clouded our image of him. Book Ron holds much more power in the trio's friendship. He is the one who introduces Hermione and Harry to all things in the Wizarding World. He is smart – even though he is not as zealous as Hermione, he is a good student and a brilliant wizard’s chess player. He is genuine, kind and loyal. I won’t reiterate all the smart things people have said about his character before. If you are interested you can check some good arguments here:

here, here or here

Everything he is and everything he goes through makes him a hero in his own way. He is the character with the biggest development and the biggest potential. He overcomes his own shortcomings again and again to stay by Harry's side. Especially in the last books he struggles, makes decisions he deeply regrets and faces his insecurities.

I could go on and on about this… but leave it at this for now. I hope this makes you see Ron in a better light! Fight me in the comments or sing along my praise of Ron!

tl;dr: Ron is a truly interesting character but the movies and fanon have skewed his image in a negative way.

[variousqueerthings]

So I rewatched the scene in period of adjustment and this time I noticed (because I wasn’t too busy gasping out loud) that BJ even says that Trapper built that still with Hawkeye!!

I fully was reading that whole context as subtext, but he fucking says it!!! (and then the camera cuts to a close-up of Hawkeye like this:

(what cannot be seen in a screenshot is how heavily he swallows, but the intensity of the expression? the bruise) 

It’s not until after that BJ says that he’s home too and Hawkeye tells him that he’ll go home, they all will (convincing nobody, including yourself of “going home” without leaving something behind...) 

but this isn’t about Hawkeye in this scene, it’s really just that I missed that whole moment, because I was already agog at the whole thing -- we’re talking about BJ:

(you ever think about how he missed this whole period in his own kid’s life?)

BJ who wants to go home, because that’s his lifeline, which reminds me once again of Trapper (and the way I think BJ will always hate Trapper for being there first -- no other character sits in someone’s shadow like he does, not Potter, not Klinger, not Charles). Both of them try to think of this part of their lives as a blip, after which they can return home to the real world and presumably forget it ever happened, although the way that they exist within the blip itself is different.

(and ok maybe this will be a bit about Hawkeye anyway)

With Hawkeye the feeling is he’ll never “escape,” if that was even something he was capable of trying to do in the first place (every moment is intensely real, welcome to Hawkeye and undiagnosed Brain Chemistry), but also these people all matter so much to him, which is part of the sadness of them having Something Else to return to, knowing that he’s a small part of a larger picture they’d all rather forget (except for Margaret...........??? I assume???)

anyway

BJ’s probably not going to forget, nor is he going to fit back into his old life like he used to (at least, that’s his fear), nor is the war going to leave him, nor is this a blip or an unreality, but he’ll fight it anyway (somethingsomething, my guy you’re so fucked up in ways that Sidney ought to prod at, but you’re waaay better at hiding it behind amiability up until the point you punch your best friend in the face)

Also this callback to BJ cheating on Peggy before (I was warned we hadn’t necessarily seen the last of that!) and Hawkeye being in his corner once more in ways that... aren’t the exact same words to last time, but have a similar sort of tinge to them -- that is, Hawkeye is basically making sure that BJ doesn’t fuck up with her (again). Anyway I wrote a whole post about that back in s4 (Season 4????? what!!)

And then this episode written and directed by Mike Farrell:

BJ: I’m a prisoner of war

BJ: I can’t go from “how do you do” to “I love you” because of the war!

BJ: I have a lifeline. I’m hooked to a little house in Mill Valley where my wife and daughter live. That line gives one tiny element of control in a situation where everything else is beyond my control

BJ: I’ve got to live for tomorrow, because for me there’s no now

I wonder how this attitude is going to serve him once the war actually ends. My guess is “not very well”

I suppose the conclusion to this is: this man is not okay. and he won’t be going home anymore than the rest of them. and the ways the war and the military hold him hostage means he can’t feel the things he may want to feel. and the lifeline he’s so desperately holding onto is fraying by the second (but may not noticeably break until he’s actually back?) and the dissolution of traditional/expected nuclear familial bonds. and Hawkeye built the still with Trapper. 

[cookinguptales]

wwdits tarot: the hanged man

Okay, this is the last card that I’ve spoken about much previously, so I guess from here on out things will be more of a surprise.

This is actually one of my favorite cards in this whole deck, so I’m excited to ramble about it!

XII. The Hanged Man!

So I do owe a debt to… someone… for this card. I saw someone mention Jackie Daytona as The Hanged Man once on this blue hellsite, but it was a year or two ago and I can’t for the life of me remember who said it where.

So uh. If you know who you are, please let me know so I can give you a shoutout! Also, IIRC you didn’t post much about your reasoning for choosing him, so hopefully you won’t disagree with everything I’m about to say. lmao

Anyway, here’s my reasoning for choosing Jackie Daytona as The Hanged Man.

The Hanged Man is a somewhat complicated card. There are a lot of readings for it, and some are more popular than others.

(Please keep in mind that some readings are more standardized than others, but there is no one “right” reading for a tarot card! It’s an old and messy tradition, tbh. lmao)

Like… when I say some people say this card is a traitor at the gallows and some say it’s self-sacrifice and some people say it’s an allusion to Odin on Yggdrasil and and and and

For me, I see this card as a pause, a suspension, a breath held in one’s throat. There is this sense to it of liminality, neither quite here nor there but somewhere in the process of becoming. And in that state there is infinite potential for new perspectives and understanding.

(These are fairly standard readings, btw!)

Common advice when The Hanged Man comes up is that there will be a break in your life whether you like it or not. It’s like that saying, y’know? Schedule maintenance or it will be scheduled for you. Sometimes this pause is one that you’ve chosen, and sometimes it's one that simply cannot be put off any longer.

It’s a messy, frustrating place to be, usually, but it’s also an opportunity. The Hanged Man speaks of a chance to breathe and think things through. It’s a chance to change course or become who you need to be. You will be upside-down, which is uncomfortable — but does allow you to see another perspective of the world.

That’s the upside. The downside is that you’re not going to be allowed to leave this no man’s land until this process is complete. You’re stuck, babe.

(Side note: this is why one of my favorite images of The Hanged Man I’ve ever seen is in The Insect Tarot, where the scene is changed to a caterpillar hanging in its chrysalis! Gorgeous and perfect!)

I think this reading of the card lends itself so, so well to Jackie Daytona. He is a character that literally only exists in an impermanent liminal state. He only exists as a temporary escape from the life and responsibility that Laszlo doesn’t want to deal with, and he can only exist so long as Laszlo refuses to accept these things.

Everyone comes to a crossroads at some point in their life, and you’re really supposed to choose one road or the other. But some of us, like Laszlo, set up camp right there at the intersection — and become a Jackie Daytona.

It’s not exactly a sustainable form of existence, but it can be very emotionally fulfilling as long as it lasts.

I bring up the crossroads for a reason; The Hanged Man is an intrinsically liminal card about being suspended between two states, and one major topic that comes up in anthropology when people talk about liminality is trickster figures. And boy does Jackie Daytona fit the bill.

I could honestly talk about Jackie Daytona as a liminal trickster figure for like an hour. That could easily be its own post. But for now, I’ll try to stay on topic. The important part here is that, anthropologically speaking, trickster figures have power because they are liminal. They can move from world to world seamlessly and are able to transgress the social rules that everyone else has to follow, the societal roles that everyone else has to fit themselves into; this is what gives them a sort of power that everyone else does not possess.

Jackie’s odd hovering between the vampiric world and the human world is largely what gives him his power, and it’s what helps him slither out of both his human and vampiric quandaries.

Laszlo has slipped out of his role as Laszlo and into this brand-new persona that allows him to access parts of himself that he’d walled off earlier, some of which resurface later while he’s caring for the creature that crawled out of the stomach of our dear friend Colin Robinson. He uses his brief foray into the human world to reestablish his own values system and what he wants out of the world. And, once he realizes that all this running and fighting and shirking isn’t really going to give him what he truly needs, he’s able to reassume his old vampiric role as Laszlo Cravensworth.

It’s kind of fascinating, because we know that Laszlo has so many alter egos in this show, which kind of give the vibes of incarnations like — no, I’m not gonna talk about Laszlo as trickster figure!! But just know that I really want to!!

(I’m so sorry, the nerdy academic part of me is stamping at the ground like a fucking horse right now.)

Anyway, yes, Laszlo becomes Jackie Daytona because he’s On The Run, as the episode title says, both from Jim the Vampire and from himself. He ends up stuck like The Hanged Man, except instead of being suspended in the air, the poor man is stuck in Pennsylvania.

(I can say that. I live here.)

But as he hangs there spinning his wheels, Laszlo really is coming to some important conclusions as Jackie Daytona. He never asked for this weird foray into a false life, but he does end up using it as an avenue for growth and self-understanding.

Jackie Daytona makes a great Hanged Man because he does have this sense of being stuck, of being suspended. He does have a vibe of a criminal staring down the gallows. He does have a vibe of Odin on that tree coming to understand things he never did before. He does, through his love of the girls’ volleyball team (Go Bucks!) learn about self-sacrifice.

And in the end, after he finally comes to term with everything he’s been running from, he is no longer suspended. He's seen the world from a new perspective and has come to a new understanding — and he’s finally able to cut himself free from this self-imposed imprisonment and go home.

There are lots of characters who deal with being stuck or a sense of stagnancy they can’t free themselves from, both very typical readings for this card. Guillermo and Nandor both immediately come to mind. But I think for them, The Hanged Man is a temporary state, just like it was for Laszlo.

Jackie Daytona, on the other hand, is the only character in the show whose entire identity is The Hanged Man. He only exists as a brief departure, a suspension, a sorely needed break in Laszlo’s day-to-day life. When Laszlo finally leaves the crossroads, Jackie Daytona, to some degree, ceases to exist.

Pour one out for a real one. Mostly because he is not real at all and cannot drink regular human alcohol.

RIP.

Anyway. Onto some imagery.

The Hanged Man depicts a man hanging upside down from a sort of living cross. He is hanging from one leg and the other is crossed over it. It should be noted that the wood he’s hanging from is sprouting leaves, indicating life and potential, and the halo around his head indicates some sort of enlightenment.

The Hanged Man is one of those cards that has really, really iconic imagery on it. Even decks that depart fairly radically from traditional Rider-Smith-Waite imagery seem to love themselves one thing hanging upside down from another thing.

So I don’t want to mess with that too much here. That said, I would like his hanging to be more one of perspective than something literal. Jackie is actually standing with one foot flat on the floor, the other propped back up against the regular human bar he’s leaning against, but this pose gives him the familiar cross-legged appearance of The Hanged Man.

This entire scene will be turned upside-down, so he looks quite normal when the card is reversed, but when upright he appears to be hanging. A nod to the reversed perspective will be made clear with a hooded figure in the background, upside down to Jackie but right-side up to us. This figure is Jim the Vampire, the spectral (and hilarious) figure trying to track him down in his current liminal state.

Also, I would like two small bats hanging at either side of the card — like Laszlo, they are hanging upside down, but they are doing it in a real-world sense. This is Nadja and Nandor, both sort of out-of-step with reality themselves but still living their normal lives.

From his perspective, though, they are the ones who are right-side up.

(Upside down? It’s complicated.)

wwdits tarot masterpost

[iriswords]

Febuwhump Day 12 - Can you hear me?

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: blood and injuries, self-esteem issues, implied past emotional abuse

Fandom: Batman

Words:

Tim has been caught by the Riddler and is forced to play one of his games. He talks to himself as he progresses, certain the comms don't work. On the other end of the line, the Bats hear everything.

--

Tim hates the Riddler. He used to like the man, used to find him clever and funny, even, but all past appreciation for him is now gone. He pounds against the door for what must be the dozenth time, screaming at the Riddler to let him out. As if that would get him somewhere. It is a commonly known fact that villains never do what heroes ask them. There would be no villains and heroes, otherwise. 

“That’s of no use, birdie,” says the Riddler over the speakers in the room. “We’ll proceed to the next part once you’ve calmed down a bit.”

Calmed down a bit? Tim has more than enough reasons to be angry. Not only did he let himself be captured like a fool, and by the Riddler, of all people—Tim has way too many things to do to spend any amount of time trying to solve riddles—but he also sees no way out. The Riddler placed him in a box of a room, with two locked doors. One he entered through. The other has yet to open. 

Tim slumps against the wall and lets himself slide to the ground. The Riddler left him in nothing but his suit, stripped him of anything that could have been useful to his escape. He even took the cape. On his leg, a dark stain grows slowly where Tim was stabbed earlier in the night by the Riddler’s goons. It hasn’t hit anything dangerous, but the bleeding doesn’t show any sign of stopping on its own, and Tim has nothing to stop it with. Carefully, Tim prods at his ribs, which he cracked two nights ago and told no one about. They haven’t gotten worse, but they could use some rest. Unfortunately for them, it doesn’t look like they will get it any time soon.

Tim taps against his comms to activate them. Just like the times he tried before, he gets nothing but static. 

“Red Robin to Oracle,” he tries anyway. “Can you hear me?” Silence is his only answer. “The Riddler’s got me, and I’m not in the mood for playing his games.” 

“Rude,” comes in the Riddler’s voice over the speakers. Tim ignores him. 

“Oracle? Can you hear me?” Still nothing. 

At the same moment, a pastel blue gas whirls out of the airway. Tim instinctively reaches for the rebreather in his belt and remembers he does not have his belt or his rebreather anymore. 

“What is this?” he hisses at the room, hoping the Riddler is still listening and inclined to answer him. 

“I’ve paired up with Scarecrow,” says the Riddler casually, as though this was no information worth mentioning. “He’s decided to expand his horizons and test other aspects of the human mind. As a fellow intellectual, I could only agree.” 

Tim would rather he hadn’t agreed. And what does ‘expand his horizons’ even mean? Knowing Scarecrow, it cannot be anything good. Tim holds his breath until he cannot anymore, then lets the blue gas infiltrate his lungs. It doesn’t taste like anything, so far from the acrid taste of fear toxin, like terror on your tongue warning you about what is to come. 

Tim waits for the effects, tense as a wire. They do not come. The Riddler gives no indication as to whatever toxin this is functioned or not. Instead, the second door slides slowly open. 

“You may proceed to the test,” says the Riddler, and Tim figures he might as well indulge the two villains. If they are satisfied, they could even let him go. He gets up, wincing when he puts too much weight on his injured leg and walks to the door. 

Tim steps into a giant labyrinth, stretching over the whole ground floor of what looks to be two joint warehouses. That the Riddler even managed to pull this out without getting caught is a testimony of Gotham’s police failure—and the vigilante’s failure, too, because they definitely should have found out about this sooner—but what is done is done.

“Are you out of creativity?” asks Tim out loud. 

“Don’t judge my piece of art too quickly, birdie. You may be surprised. All you need to know is that there are no rules. But if you do something I don’t like, you’ll be punished. You’ll know the exit when you reach it.” 

Perfect. Just. Fucking. Perfect. Tim has not had nearly enough coffee to deal with this. It looks like he doesn’t have a choice. 

Before going into the labyrinth, he tries his comms again and receives no more answer. He decides to let them activated, in case they come back to life suddenly, and steps into the labyrinth. 

—

“Red Robin to Oracle,” says Red Robin, and Barbara’s attention shifts from Batman to Red Robin. “Can you hear me?”

“Clear as day,” answers Barbara. “Where are you and what’s going on? We lost your tracker.” 

“The Riddler’s got me and I’m not in the mood for playing his games.” 

Barbara snorts. “Who ever is? Do you have any useful information to make it easier for me to track you down?” 

Tim doesn’t answer her. “Oracle?” he calls. “Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you very well, Red Robin. Do you know where you are?” No answer. “Red?” Barbara sighs and switches to Batman’s line again. “B, we’ve got a problem.” 

— 

As was to be expected, the labyrinth is filled with traps and riddles. Moving walls and hidden goons waiting to take him out. Tim defeats them all, though not without sustaining further injuries. His left wrist is broken, and his leg is minutely getting worse. He leans on the walls of the labyrinth as he stumbles through it, panting, his mind sluggish from the pain. He fights back the strange urge to cry that has been rising in him for the better part of his journey in the labyrinth.

“I wonder if they’ll notice I’m gone,” he says to himself in a surprising bout of honesty. “Or how long it’s gonna take them.” No one answers him. The silence around him is suffocating. He keeps talking, the words tumbling out of his mouth without his consent. “Maybe they’ll assume I’ll get out myself.” He gives a strangled, bitter laugh. “Well, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.”

Minutes have stretched out into hours, and each riddle takes Tim more and more time to solve. Every time, frustration builds up in him and tears burn his eyes. 

“Maybe they won’t care. Mom and dad wouldn’t have.”

— 

“Red Robin, can you hear me?” asks Oracle for the thousandth time in the past three hours, since Tim asked for help. And just like those past times, she receives no answer. Everyone is back in the Cave, ready to roam the city as soon as she gets a hint as to where Red Robin is kept. But the Riddler was clever this time, for not even she can find anything leading to Tim. She will, eventually, she knows she will, but the question is, how much time is it going to take? 

“I wonder if they’ll notice I’m gone,” echoes Red’s voice through the speakers in the Batcave. Everyone freezes. Apart from a few pained grunts, it is the first thing Tim has said in hours. “Or how long it’s gonna take them.” Barbara exchanges a confused look with Dick. Is he talking about the Riddler and his goons? Has he escaped them? 

“Maybe they’ll assume I’ll get out myself.” Barbara frowns as the words start to make sense. Over the speakers, Tim laughs darkly. “Well, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.” 

“Is he—” starts Jason. 

“Talking about us?” finishes Babs. “Yeah, I think he is.” Silence falls over the Cave. Babs shares the sentiment. Why would Tim think they wouldn’t notice or come for him? 

“Maybe they won’t care. Mom and dad wouldn’t have.” 

By her side, Dick makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat. Uneasiness grows in Barbara’s chest. They are not supposed to listen to this. 

“Red, can you hear me?” she tries again. Tim doesn’t acknowledge her.

— 

Tim continues to talk to himself, in a desperate and not entirely controlled attempt at distracting himself from his impending doom. Pain shoots up from his leg every time his foot brushes the ground, and he nearly face-planted three times in the past minute. He rounds a corner and finds himself at a dead-end. Tim chokes on a sob. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” he cries to no one. “I just wanted a calm night. Just one fucking night away from assassination attempts and near-death experiences. Is that too much to ask?” 

The Riddler doesn’t answer him. Tim sobs harder, and he doesn’t understand why, all of a sudden, all his emotional control, so good usually, is so thoroughly shot. 

“Am I really that fucking insufferable that no one wants to keep me around?” The words fall from his mouth without his permission. “Maybe mom and dad were right when they said I was impossible to love.” Maybe everyone was right when they tried to leave. Maybe he should stop clinging to them like a pathetic leach and just remove himself so they won’t have to. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

The tears stop as abruptly as they came, Tim’s chest heaving from the remnants of sobs. He dries his tears with a shaky hand and pulls his mask back on. Whatever this episode was, he’s glad there was no one around to witness it. 

— 

“Am I really that fucking insufferable that no one wants to keep me around?” asks Tim, and Babs clenches her jaw. She doesn’t dare glance at Dick, still by her side. She knows what she’ll see. Eyes full of tears, cheeks red and wet, face distorted by sorrow. She knows he blames himself, and she also knows he isn’t entirely free of blame. But she cannot comfort him, not when she can barely swallow around the lump in her own throat. The Cave fell into an uneasy silence when Tim first started crying, the sound so unusual to all of them. Tim is all cynicism and calculated boredom. He does not cry. 

“Maybe mom and dad were right when they said I was impossible to love.” 

Dick lets out an audible sob and curls up on himself, a hand clasped tightly over his mouth. Babs risks a glance at the rest of the Cave. Bruce’s face, bare from the cowl, has twisted into a constipated expression, his way of conveying regret and sorrow. Cass hovers silently by his side, twitchy in a way she usually never is. Farther in the Cave, Jason is pacing, hands fisted in his hair. As his body turns toward her, she catches a glimpse of bright, unnaturally green eyes. Damian, for his part, is rooted to the spot near the Medbay, wide eyes fixed on the speaker. His expression is a careful mask, but Babs can see the way his hands shake slightly where they hang limply at his sides. 

“Red,” Barbara tries once again. She cannot help the way exhaustion sips into her voice. “Can you hear me?” 

— 

Tim misses the goon who comes out of nowhere and misses the bat swung at him. He does not dodge and does not defend himself. It hits his temple full force, a skull-shattering blow that sends him sprawling to the ground. He lands on his broken wrist and the pain rips a howl from him. His vision whitens out for a moment, and he comes to panting and sobbing, cradling his injured wrist to his chest. The goon is nowhere to be found. Tim should be glad, he guesses, that they didn’t stay around to beat him up more. 

He straightens up with difficulty, dizzy from the blow, the pain, and the blood loss. His breath itches with silent, uncontrollable sobs. Tim tries to get to his feet, but his knee gives out beneath him and he falls back to the floor. He curls up against the wall of the labyrinth, all of his resolve gone. 

“Please,” he whispers to no one. He has never felt more like a child. “Please someone, just come.” 

In his head, Jane Drake scoffs disdainfully. 

— 

“I have an address,” announces Babs. Bruce, who has been anxiously pacing the Cave ever since Tim cried out in pain, turns abruptly towards her, already putting his coal back on. 

“Where,” he growls, more order than question. The second Barbara gives him the address, Bruce is gone, closely followed by his sons. 

“They’re coming, Red,” says Barbara into the comms. No one answers her. 

@febuwhump

Part 2

[galacticnova3]

On one hand I can kinda understand why I keep getting horny asks regarding the Master Crown. A, sometimes it’s funny(not when it’s graphic like the thing in my inbox I just had to read with my own two eyes), and B, something something dominator something something top-coded or whatever. I get it, this is the monsterfucker website, I shouldn’t be surprised. On the other hand I feel like that kinda glosses over a big part of what makes it interesting as a villain/malevolent force, at least in regards to how I’ve been writing it. Usually when it comes to subjugators and conquerors, there is a level of restraint as long as they get what they want. If there’s no (perceived) threat to their power or control, they’re usually satisfied once their goal is achieved, because they HAVE an end goal. There’s a clear point where they have what they want, and while maybe they’ll decide they want even more, that usually comes after a period of reveling in their victory. You don’t conquer a kingdom and immediately decide “I want to take control of the neighboring kingdoms also”, you shape what you just got to your liking and go from there. There’s some level of reason, however vague and however bad it may be.

With the Master Crown, though? It’s not going to take over a person and get comfortable and take a break from its whole possession and assimilation/destruction hobby. It could have the most perfect host in the highest position of power that can possibly be achieved over a place, and yet still not be satisfied and ultimately seek out someone else to prey on. There is no end goal for it to reach that will briefly have it thinking “ok this is enough for now”. It does not have a concept of ‘enough’, there is nothing that is ‘adequate’ or ‘sufficient’ or ‘decent’ to a being that only cares about whether or not it’s in control. Either it has what it wants or it doesn’t. No matter who it manipulates, overpowers, or subjugates, there are still things out there that aren’t under its control— people who breathe when it didn’t give them permission, who bleed even if it was merely one of their peers who cut them, who see someone else or themself as their master. If it had its way there would be no distinction between itself and everyone else, because it operates with the understanding that the only way to truly rule everything is to snuff out every mind that isn’t your own.

There is no appeasing the insatiable, because having less than everything it wants is equivalent to having nothing. There is no compromising with something that only wants to take and never give, because to compromise with it is to give up completely. There is no bargaining with something that sees you as a means to an end and nothing else, because you cannot offer it anything that it would desire more than your life. You can’t reason with something inherently unreasonable. You can’t hope to hide or escape from it once it’s decided to target you. You can’t just wait out the functionally immortal; at best you will die before it finds you. You can’t hope to win the war of attrition on your own once it has you in its grasp. The more you fight against it, the more tightly it will hold on to you, the further it will plunge its talons into you, the deeper it will drag you under until you either give in or lose the strength to resist anymore. It does not, and will not, take no for an answer, nor does it let its prey get away once it has found it— not even through death. It has no care nor interest in anything that is not its own desire to dominate the world and everything in it, and it will stop at nothing to achieve that.

Either you’d end up dead, or you’d end up reduced to an empty husk of a person who may as well be considered dead, and then it’d just move on to someone else like you never existed as anything other than a drop in the bucket. Also you would get splinters.

[herbirdglitter]

All right buckle up. I’ve got some hot gossip from a person you don’t know about people you also don’t know. I will do my best to provide context but I am just bursting to tell my siblings about this but my brother is borrowing my phone so I can’t. So I’m telling you instead. My godmother came up for a visit and she brought the tea.

Here’s what’s up. Our old church, which had been turned into a cult by a man we’ll call Father Pervert, has recently turned over a new leaf. Father Pervert had been caught exchanging spicy emails, pics, videos, etc. with a married woman in the congregation. Caught, that is by her husband. Now, this is an Eastern Orthodox church, so priests are allowed to marry if they marry before becoming a priest, so he was also cheating on his wife, whom he married when she was 17 and he was 25. Yup. 

Anyway, a full investigation was launched, the police were informed (because no one needs a repeat of the catholic pedophile thing), and there was a letter sent out with an email address to encourage other people to come forward with information about him. GUYS. 

It turns out, there was not one incident, but three over a course of about twenty to thirty years. He has a disturbingly high salary for a priest, he pretends not to have a phone so that people can’t reach him at home, and he also covered up the fact that there was a convicted pedophile living right next to the church school. I could go on. 

So there’s a hearing, he’s suspended from duty, and most people don’t really know what’s going on. Until recently, everyone thought he was the bees knees. They’d go to him about everything, finances, medical problems, whether to use birth control, you name it. People are still intentionally not finding out what it is he did wrong because they don’t want to. The whole situation was very unhealthy, and he didn’t like people who asked too many questions, or authority figures the people liked a lot. He was scared of losing power, so slowly he began driving people out. 

People were mysteriously leaving after confrontations with him, but never because of that, no. It was always a job offer that they just couldn’t turn down, or moving to be with family, or the “haha i’m so pious but really i’m trying to escape” move to live near a monastery tactic. See, people still had connections, family, friends, back in that church that they wanted to be able to come back to. If you spoke out against Father Pervert in any way, you were labeled as a troublemaker, a fallen sinner, etc. You get the picture. 

Well, and this is where it get’s good, one of those authority figures that Father Pervert had managed get removed was a delightful man that we shall call Father Cool Guy. Yes, Father. He was a priest, and it was he who was chosen to replace Father Pervert as the primary priest of the church. 

I cannot stress how much of a delight this man is. He’s kind, he’s funny, he is  generous with his time, he is so loving, he is everything that a priest should be, and that is coming from a queer atheist. 

All this we already knew, as this was a whole thing that had played out over the course of this last year, and here’s where we get to the tea my godmother brought. She’d stopped going to this church quite a while ago as she was “troublemaker” (read authority figure with differing opinions) but she came back a couple of times recently to see the new priest. 

APPARENTLY, Father Cool Guy delivered the least subtle, most fantastically pointed sermon in human history, with thinly veiled lessons about humility, and not putting people up on pedestals and then proceeded to ask her afterwards if she thought anyone got it. 

THEN the other time she went, the poor wife of Father Pervert, the one who’d married him when she was seventeen, got up and delivered a speech about how thankful she was for the time they’d had in the community etc.. A speech which was long, and at times clearly showed that she still had some hope of working things out. Which is so sad because she’s married to a narcissist with horrible power issues and it’s tragic and I hope she gets help. I realize that doesn’t sound like much after the wild ride of the premise but we’re getting the info in little increments instead of all at once so it’s big to us.  

So that was that tea, but the other thing was that my godmother is in her 60s with a long dead husband and has just had her “oh crap I’m asexual” moment, which is iconic, because she {intentionally} lives in a tent on huge property with all her kids and her grand kids and hasn’t tried to date or anything once since her husband died. So, I, her 19-year-old asexual godchild, ended up explaining a bunch of things to her and I think I got her sold on the idea of labels. Then I accidentally outed her trans godson to her (I REALLY THOUGHT SHE KNEW) which turned out fine because she was perfectly supportive, but now I have to break that to him and I feel like shit but I think it’ll be fine. Help.  

So that was my day

[dreaming-for-an-escape]

@wolfanddragon98

Here you go! Writing this as AU kid Aemond and adult Aemond was interesting and with these results not much has changed.... o.O

How do you like spending your free time?

Kid Aemond: I like to spend my free time with Adrian. We both enjoy the same things. We often read together in the library, but I like it bette when she reads to me before going to bed. 

Adult Aemond: I would like to spend more time with my lady, but every time I suggest we do something together she gives me the strangest looks.  

What is your biggest fear?

Kid Aemond: I fear the day Adrian were to return to where she came from.

Adult Aemond: I fear more for others than for myself. I’d burn down villages for Adrian if she were to ever escape the Red Keep. 

One thing you regret?

Kid Aemond: I regret how I acted with Adrian before she left. It was very childish. 

Adult Aemond: Regret? I regret nothing..... *Adrian cries in the background*

When was the last time you felt truly happy?

Kid Aemond: I was happy when I claimed Vhagar...but that was brief. However, having Adrian by my side surpassed any joy I’ve ever felt before. 

Adult Aemond: Seeing Adrian again after so many years made me relive my youth again. How dull everything was before our reunion.

What is your favorite color?

Kid Aemond: I like sapphire blue. Adrian looks beautiful in that color. 

Adult Aemond: The dark shade of ruby red is a color I favor a lot these days. 

If you could have three things in life what would they be?

Kid Aemond: A dragon of my mine (accomplished), prove to Adrian that I am worthy of her hand, and be a better father than mine ever was. Adrian’s told me her father, although serious, still made it known he cared about her and her sister. He sounds like a good man. 

Adult Aemond: I already have two of the things I’ve wanted in life. But I am soon to get the third. 

Do you believe in destiny?

Kid Aemond: I didn’t give it much thought until Adrian appeared. 

Adult Aemond: *looks at Adrian with a dilated pupil* Yes...I do. 

One thing you cannot stand?

Kid Aemond: I can not stand watching Adrian spent time with those bastards. They are not worthy to be near her. 

Adult Aemond: Adrian deserves to be with the best, and that is me. Not whoever she spent time with while she was in Dorne.

What makes you feel at home?

Kid Aemond: Adrian told me a home is where the heart is. I suppose that makes sense, I feel whole with my family. When she’s with me. 

Adult Aemond: Although I have my family, the Red Keep felt different without Adrian. I didn’t feel complete until she came back. 

What is your favorite food?

Kid Aemond: Lemon cakes. Adrian often sneak into the kitchens after dinner and get some more for us. 

Adult Aemond: I’m partial to peaches now. 

[sapphic-squid]

Ok some random thoughts on season 2 from my brain lmao:

I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT NORA. They like don’t tell us anything about her other than the singular shot and ughhh it enrages me.

I hated Seth’s character, which I know is at least somewhat intentional but I don’t like watching shows where I want to punch one of the characters every time they are on screen.

Unsure if I’m reading too much into her words but them showing Shelby right after Gretchen says she has people on the inside bothers me because I really don’t want a Shelby double agent storyline. Also I am sad about shoni being the way it was. I hope that gets resolved a bit if there’s another season.

From a very random standpoint, I don’t like the experiment because it doesn’t make sense from a scientific side and that annoys my head. Which I recognize that is such a random annoyance considering Gretchen clearly has some problems that she needs to address on her own, but I’m just not enjoying the experiment standpoint.

I actually didn’t mind the boys being involved. It definitely wasn’t necessary, but I didn’t find it too bad. Which considering the reaction I saw on tumblr I thought I was going to be more annoyed at them. Also I cannot tell if I’m supposed to be picking up tension between Leah and Fatin but I definitely did.

I rambled a lot in this lmao. In conclusion, I liked season 1 more. I still want a season 3 because I want the story to be completely concluded. I liked this season but not my favorite.

Fucking hate Seth. I read a spoiler about the SA so I knew it was coming so I hated him from the start. I kinda wanna know how I would have felt about him at first if I didn’t know

I’m very conflicted on the Shelby double agent thing. I like the idea of a Shelby working for Gretchen but secretly doing it to help the girls and playing Gretchen. But I just feel like it could go wrong so many ways. I don’t want a Nora situation where people turn her into a villain for being manipulated. And having the camera focus on her as they were trying to escape made kind it feel too obvious to me. I don’t know how to feel

Yeah the experiment is confusing to me. In season one I was able to write it off as Gretchen being crazy and biased and not knowing how experiments work. But now that the experiment is so plot heavy (while it was in s1 too a lot of it was survival still and mysteries and now there’s test subjects put together in a phase of the experiment and now they pretty much know they’re test subjects) I don’t know what the writers plan to do with this. Will there be an actual point to this?

For me I didn’t mind the boys inclusion I just think they over did it. Like Raf’s whole backstory pretty much appointed to nothing. In small doses it think the boys would have been way better. But with just how much time was given to them I think they ruined some of the flow of the show and what made the first season so captivating

S2 was SO Leatin coded. Like I’ve loved them since the beginning but like also I try and think critically of the direction of the show and not get sucked into shipping goggles. And I think they could pass it off as platonic until the different her scene. FATIN LOVES A HER THE SAME WAY SHELBY LOVES TONI. THAT IS EXPLICITLY GAY

I know you talked about it first but saving Nora for last because I love her my whole heart. She’s been my favorite since I was halfway through the first episode. And I was a firm believer she was alive so watching it made me feel vindicated because I WAS RIGHT. But then I just got sad because she didn’t get any lines. We got a sad look at Rachel. There was just so much potential. I wanted more of her in HQ. I wanted to see her miserable and angry and wanting to fight for Rachel and her friends. She never wanted this. All she wanted was to help her sister