#season 8 looming in the distance

[atomicradiogirl]

i just made it to s4e3 where house tells wilson “i love you” and wilson shrugs in response like “yeah, i know.” DO YOU MIND????

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part 7: Me and You In Eternity

|Part 6: Radio's Last Broadcast| |Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x Wife!Reader Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Asexual! Alastor, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, dishes, being a simp for your partner, Asexual! Alastor, husband! Alastor. My classes started already. That's why it took a while to pop this out. Have fun with this. I'm pleased to announce that there will be two chapters left. So a part 8 and 9. (Hopefully). It will finally cover the last episode of the season

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Four Weeks Before The Extermination

Someone swipes a thumb over your cheek. The strokes are hesitant, but filled with a gentle purpose.

Your eyes flutter open. It’s all blurry.

There’s a figure standing above you. Some small part of your soul wants to give in. It wants to believe it’s Alastor who stares down at you, capturing your gaze with the reddest of eyes. That it’s him who caresses your face with a softness that has you leaning into his touch. How cruel of your mind to play a trick on the flickers of your soul—the very same soul that continues to yearn for the missing.

What a cruel, yet old trick. It can’t fool you, not anymore.

You reach out for Alastor, poking your fingers on the edges of his lips to force a smile. This Alastor shows you the widest smile as he takes his thumb and runs it over your eyelids.

It’s wet.

Another lonely tear threatens to fall out. He brushes it away before it could get too far. The warmth of his thumb transfers to your skin.

You scramble backwards, distancing yourself. The questions thread through your mind. It distracts you, pulling your focus on the important facts. Here’s a fact: The bed doesn’t span as wide as you think it does. The edge looms closer. Still, you persevere with the quest to stumble backwards, far away from Alastor and the tears he’s been wiping away.

The chance to fall never arrives.

Alastor slithers out of the shadows, catching you in his arms with ease. “Hi.”

The back of your fingers trails down the skin of his cheek. It’s very real and very solid. There’s nothing else to say except, “Hi.”

“Terrible shift at work?” Alastor asks you with a smile the displays the yellow staining his teeth. “You weren’t in such a state when I left yesterday.”

You don’t know how to respond to him.

Alastor carries you to the vanity table, moving his thumb up and down the bare skin of your knees. It’s the smallest of acts.  Sometimes, you wonder if he’s aware of such an action. The topic never gets mentioned in feat he would stop.

Alastor waves his hands, opening them wide to drop you with an annoying flare. There’s an audible ‘thump’ when your ass connects to the cushioned but hardwood chair. It earns Alastor a glare, which he immediately responds to with that smug and self-satisfied smile of his.

It seems there’s a stray feather clinging on your scalp. It’s made aware to you when Alastor picks it out for you.

His eyes turn to the radio playing on the vanity table. It’s kept playing during the night. “Are you just playing static on this one?” Alastor asks, twisting the knob to switch it off. “It isn’t tuned to any registered stations.”

The hand smoothening your feathers isn’t a cruel trick. It’s as solid and as real as it should be.

“Playing static for extended periods of time will damage the speakers,” he says, lips twisting. Alastor and his radios—always so particular, even in death. “What do you have to say for yourself? I’m worried about how you’ve been caring for all our other radios.”

“I play the static as a white noise,” you say, and it’s the only thing your pride allows you to comment on the topic. “It helps me sleep.”

Alastor takes the brush next to the radio. The soft bristles run through your scalp. He untangles the twisted feathers, smoothening the ones that poke out. Alastor’s much gentler on your feather than you ever would be. It’s quite the sight to see how careful the Radio Demon is not to tug on his wife’s scalp.

Alastor runs the feather between his fingers, untangling the harsher knots.

“When did you…,” you start and trail off when you notice how hoarse you sound. Does Alastor notice it as well? “When did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Alastor catches your gaze from the reflection of the mirror. “I used my keys,” he says. “You said not to knock. It’s quite nice to know you haven’t changed our locks.”

There’s a small box on the vanity table. The paint on the wood faded decades ago, only leaving streaks of dull colors. You grab it, twirling it around your fingers. “What brings you by?”

“Was it not you who told me it’s not a visit when it’s your own home?” Alastor wags his fingers, shaking his head with such vigor it’s almost mocking. It probably is meant to be mocking.

The box goes back on the table.

Alastor allows you to intertwine your fingers on his free hand. This definitely isn’t some trick.

“Good morning, my deer,” you say, pressing your face into his very real hand. “I’m happy to see you, more than you know, but I have this feeling you aren’t here to tell me all about how you’re going to be living with me again.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says, studying your face. There’s nothing much to pick apart when only a simple smile paints your face. “I’m here to take you to the hotel with me. It would be convenient to do all the preparations there.”

You shake your head, trying to release your hold on his hand.

Alastor refuses to release his hold on you, even as you give it a slight tug. It forces you to intertwine your fingers once more.

“I have work.”

Alastor drops the brush rather than releasing his hold on you.

He snaps his fingers, and a piece of paper pops into his hand. “How convenient then that I happen to have a signed and official letter from the Princess of Hell granting you one month off from work,” he says. “I’ve taken the liberties of sending a copy to Management.”

Alastor takes a step back when you reach for the letter. He doesn’t get far, considering how tightly your hands are linked together.

He inches his face closer, the paper still far away from your grasps. “Are you not forgetting something?”

You press a kiss on the edge of his lips, letting it linger longer than it should, and grab the paper from Alastor when his ears perk up.

It’s a proper and formal letter. It’s free from any squiggles or smiley faces. There’s only one type of ink instead of a barrage of crayons and markers. You read through the lines of paragraphs then study Charlie’s signature.

Alastor grabs the brush to continue his work. “I was referring to a ‘thank you, deerest’ or a ‘How absolutely wonderful of you. You’re such an amazing husband, my deer’ as basic manners dictate, but I guess a kiss shall do.”

You roll your eyes, but press another kiss on his cheek.

It’s easy to push off Alastor’s hand from your scalp. It’s even easier to jump back into bed, and tug the blanket over your head. Doing so undoes all of Alastor’s careful brushing. There are wet patches staining your pillow. It’s something you ignore immediately in favor of pretending its existence isn’t real.

“Come on, now.” The bed dips from Alastor’s weight. “We have a full morning ahead of us! There’s breakfast, then the matter of packing presentable clothes, and getting you settled.”

Presentable clothes? All your clothes are presentable! They’re more than presentable! It’s him who wears the tacky bow ties and striped coats. Alastor saw how red his eyes and hair became and decided to lean into the whole thing.

“We can nap as much as you want once you’ve gotten your things sorted.”

“I’m going to sleep in,” you say, ignoring the wobble in your voice. Every single fiber you own wants Alastor to ignore it as well. “Go away. I’ll just meet you at the hotel on my own time. I’m sure there’s work for you to keep you busy there.”

A single tear drips to the pillow. He shouldn’t be here, not when control threatens to slip from your grasps. Alastor isn’t allowed to see the cracks. You shouldn’t let him see them, not when he wouldn’t like it.

“Look at me,” he says, tugging on the blanket. “My love, come on, look at me. There’s no point in being stubborn.”

You shake your head, bringing out your arm to show him how beautiful your middle finger is.

It’s easy to see his annoyance, even from underneath the blanket. Alastor’s lips will close into a strained smile. This one will replace his usual unsettling smile. His eyes will squint and twitch as he furrows his brows with controlled tolerance. And there it is, right on cue—the faint static.

Alastor rips the blanket off you.

There’s a neutral expression forced onto your face, even as your eyes remain shut. It’s a simple act to pretend there isn’t a lonely tear leaving your eyes. Maybe if you ignore the tear trailing down your skin, Alastor won’t see it drip to the pillow.

He brushes the next one away, and secures the blanket around your shoulders. It’s such a simple detail that can be ignored, but Alastor adjusts the blanket, tugging on the ends to cover everything…except your face.

There’s nowhere to hide anymore. It doesn’t stop you from keeping your eyes snapped shut, and ignoring the single tear sliding down your cheek with a blank expression. You’re not supposed to show him the cracks. What are you doing?

“Look at me?” Alastor asks you, running his thumb over your eyelids.

These eyes of yours heed to him. Denying Alastor is an ability that you do not possess. Not in life, and surely, not in death.

Alastor holds your face with both his hands, still intent on wiping away the wet streaking your cheek. “We can stay here for a minute,” he says. “Don’t turn me away.”

It’s as much of a command as it is a plea.

“Will it cost me?” you ask him, leaning into the warmth of his hold. “I think I have a spare soul lying around.”

He brushes a stray feather away from your face. “Just a smile will suffice.”

“Only a minute?”

“We can stay here for a lifetime if you wish.” The bed dips further when he inches closer to press a kiss on your forehead. “Smile for me.”

You show Alastor a smile that could rival the very stars themselves.

The coat slides off his shoulders, and he tosses the thing over the back of a chair. Alastor peels the blanket off your shoulder to slot himself underneath, pressing himself oh so close to you.

There’s no need to question the tears, not when you’ve had decades to ponder on the answer. It’s an event that’s been inscribed to the story of you and him, and its existence demands your very soul to mourn.

What is grief if not the time that never was—the time that was never allowed to be?

All the time spent washing the dishes alone. All the time spent cooking a meal for one. All the time spent sleeping in a bed made for two, but houses one. It’s that very same unspent time that gathers up in the corner of your eyes, and trails down your cheek only for Alastor to wipe it away.

Alastor intertwines his fingers with yours, thumbing your ring finger. “Did you lose your wedding ring?” he asks. “Ha! I always knew you would be the first one to do so.”

“It’s on the nightstand,” you say, giving him a kick. Alastor uses this opportunity to hook your legs, trapping it to tangle them with his own.

He releases his hold on your hand to slip the cool metal around your finger. The ring slots back to where it belongs. Alastor traces it, feeling how the ring fits into your fingers.

Alastor pulls on your shoulder, hoisting you until your head lays directly on top of his chest. Every breath he takes raises your head up and down. Up and down and up and down and up and down—as it should be.

You ball your fist and smack his chest lightly. “Alastor.”

“Yes?”

“Alastor.” You smack his chest once more. Still, it goes up and down and up and down and up and down.

“What is it, my dear?” he asks you in a voice that is oh so soft and very, very, alive.

“Alastor…,” you call out to him, letting his name leave your lips like a prayer. “Alastor.”

“Yes?” His thumb brushes over a tear that refuses to be hidden.

Alastor smiles at you, his yellow teeth displayed as he stares into you. It’s no longer brown, but red. That’s not important. The color will never be important. His eyes are here and they’re looking at you. Nothing’s changed—nothing important at least. To you, these red eyes still shine brighter than starlight.

“You keep answering me.” You squeeze his hand.

Alastor squeezes back. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Alastor.”

“Yes?”

“Will you keep answering me?”

He takes a moment to think, letting the silence ring as he draws out his answer. “It’s quite compelling to stop,” he says. “I can practically see it. Your brows will furrow, and these lips of your will twist in a laughable attempt to conceal a frown. It would ruffle all your feathers right off your scalp!”

“Alastor?” you ask.

“Yes,” he answers.

There’s work to be done. It forces you to have to pull yourself away from the lifetime that should have been, and start the day. Alastor has to re-brush the tangled feathers. If he has any complaints, he doesn’t voice them. It takes a few minutes more to pick up the feathers that fell to the floor, and throw them in the trash.

He takes your hand, and brings you to the kitchen.

Breakfast is whatever’s left inside the refrigerator. Alastor, somehow, manages to create a proper and relatively healthy meal for you to consume. The first bite of scrambled eggs brings a smile. It’s the same eggs you’ve used for yourself, but somehow, this one is the best eggs you have ever tasted.

It’s been years since you’ve had a proper meal on this dinged up table. The turmeric stains have faded into a small yellow. The cracks on the table have rounded with dullness. Most meals were eaten at work or in front of the television.

“How was your day?”

Alastor leans on the palm of his hand, watching you eat. “That’s a question reserved for dinner.”

“It’s a question from when I wasn’t able to witness the happening of your day,” you say. “Will you not be next to me from now on? What’s there to ask when I will be there to see how the rest of your day will go?”

“There isn’t much to say,” Alastor says, tracing the dents on the table. “I awoke quite early, got dressed, dropped by your workplace, and then went straight to our home.”

There’s a smug smile on your lips. It’s not something you’re keen on hiding. “Were you that excited to bring me to the hotel?”

“Eat your eggs.”

You take a bite off your meal, doing as he says. It’s seasoned perfectly. When you cook, its either too salty or tasteless. You never did get around to figuring out the perfect amount, but it seems Alastor was able to solve the mystery of how much salt to add. “I’m not hearing a ‘no’.”

“Eat your eggs.”

You take another bite, and point the fork at him. “I’m still not hear—”

“And you never shall,” Alastor says, grabbing the fork to push another mouthful of eggs into your mouth. “So, just eat your eggs.”

He keeps the fork with him the whole meal, shoving food into your mouth to prevent further questioning.

Inside the sink, an assortment of bowls and tiny plates and pans are neatly arranged. There are ten dishes neatly piled, minus the pot and the pan (of course). It’s twelve with the pot and pan. All this for a simple plate of scrambled eggs.

Alastor presents his work to you with a wave of his hands and a proud smile.

This has you barking out a laugh.

Your eyes shut once more, because despite the laughter, it seems this tear is determined to fall. “How absolutely dumb of me. I don’t know what’s gotten over me this morning,” you tell him, even if you do know. “I guess work was a bit much yesterday.”

“There’s nothing stupid about you,” he says, wiping the next tear. “I’ll go wash this mess.”

“So, you do admit it!” you say, sticking your tongue out. “Are you finally going to admit that you made a mess?”

“I never have and I never will. Go to the living-room,” he says, and his ears flicker with the smallest of movements. It would be an easy miss had you been any other Sinner. “…I’ll handle this for you.”

You show Alastor the brightest smile when you press your lips on his cheek. “I think you’re mistaken, my deer. I’m incredibly happy right now,” you say. “Can we finish the dishes together?”

Alastor’s shadow pokes your leg thrice.

It looks at you with a jagged smile, fiddling with its shadow fingers. The shadow waves you at you in a way that has you waving back. It points to its cheek and looks at you with as much expectancy as a shadow could produce.

“Oh dear,” you say, smiling at the shadow. “I keep forgetting about you. Would you forgive me if I made it up to you?”

The shadow crosses its arm, pointing its nose to the air with a frown.

It’s an easy thing to position your shadow. Just a step back and careful angling makes the shadow of your lips cross past its cheek and presses a kiss on its own shadowy lips. Look at you now—feather on your scalp, four fingers on your hand, and smooching the shadow of your husband.

“Have I earned your forgiveness?” you ask. “Or shall it take another?”

The shadow offers a thumbs up, its shadowy smile somehow becoming even wider.

Alastor summons his microphone with a distracting type of flare, and strikes the edge on his own shadow. The poor thing scampers back into him with lowered ears.

You raise your eyebrows at Alastor.

Alastor leans forward on his microphone, using it as a cane, and shows you’re his most innocent smile.

You press another kiss on the edge of his mouth. What an absolutely silly man to be married to.

Alastor grabs your hand, and all twelve dishes are cleaned with only one usable hand. It takes longer than it should. The inefficiency of having one functional hand slows the whole process.

The dishes get done. Even if the bowls and plates have to be held out and supported for Alastor to sponge, the dishes get done. No matter how long it will take, the dishes will be completed together.

The coffee mugs warm your hand.

There it is again, the ever present, ‘Two’. One for you and one for him. You and him. Him and you. It seems there won’t be any wasted coffee beans today.

Alastor’s outside, seated on the steps of the porch. The legs on this body are far longer than his old ones. It forces him to stretch them out to sit comfortably on the steps. There’s a smile directed at you when Alastor receives his coffee mug.  And if Alastor was a silly man, then you are a silly, silly woman. Even after decades, it makes you giggle like a bumbling school-girl.

You take the seat next to him, staring at the reddened morning sky. “My, most, deer,” you say, calling out for him. “Do you miss the sun or the moon or the stars?”

“It’s not something I think about.”

“Ask me if I miss it,” you say, bumping your shoulders with his and showing off your most innocent smile.

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Do you miss the sun or the moon or the stars?”

The coffee mug gets discarded to the steps in favor of grabbing his face with your hands. The pads of your thumb go up and down the skin of his cheeks. “I don’t, actually,” you say with a smile that could rival the sun. “I have all of it right here in the palm of my hands.”

The laughter from his microphone mixes with his own laughter. Even his shadow chuckles at your words. “You are the most ridiculous person to be able to sit next to,” he tells you. “Did you ask me just to be able to say all that?”

“I did, actually.”

“And how long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Hmmm,” you say, taking one long sip of coffee to delay your answer. “Five or six years, give or take.”

Alastor’s original voice bleeds into his words. “Years?” he says, wheezing as his eyes bulge out in different directions. “You’ve been waiting to say that for years?

You lean your head on the palm of your hand, watching Alastor take a sip of his coffee to calm himself. When was the last time you had a morning as lively as this one? “Well, it was only ever meant for you to hear.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “No flirting before coffee’s been finished,” he says. “You should already know this.”

“Then hurry up,” you start, rubbing your nose, “and finish it then.”

He takes a small but long sip.

It makes you think he’ll drag out finishing his coffee, but Alastor throws the rest of his obviously, very full, coffee behind his shoulder. The drink splatters to the plants. He smiles at you like there isn’t coffee dripping down the leaves and into the soil.

“Look who’s being ridiculous now,” you say. “My coffee isn’t finished yet. So, I guess you’re going to have to sit there and wait.”

You take small and drawn-out sips, showing off just… how…slow…you…will take to finish.

“Horrible dream earlier?” Alastor asks you with a smile that shows off all his teeth, staring at how he fiddles with the handles of his mug.

“Not one bit!” you exclaim, taking a gulp of coffee. “It was a good one.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” he says, bumping your knees with his. “What wonderful things did your mind dream about?”

“Well, this is a dream I’ve decided to keep to myself,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Although, I think it’s one of the best ones I’ve had in a very long time.”

Alastor brushes his thumb over your eyelids, even if the tears stopped slipping. “Then why?”

“Because,” you begin, leaning into how gently he caresses you, “the dream ended too soon.”

Alastor snatches the mug around your fingers, throwing the content behind his shoulders. The coffee splashes to the plants. “It seems you’ve finished your coffee.”

“That’s wasting!”

“I’ll brew you another cup at the hotel,” he says, smiling at you. “But as of now, you’ve officially finished your coffee.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips. “Can I be greedy?”

Alastor picks a feather out of your head. “As little or as much as you want,” he tells you. “Anything you could ever want and anything you could ever wish for—it will be yours.”

“You promised me a kiss when you came home,” you say. “I think I’d like to cash that in now.”

Alastor studies your face, holding you in the palms of his hands. “And when did I do such a silly thing?”

You place your hand on top of his own, nuzzling deeper into his hold. Home has never felt more like home until this very minute. “I guess it must have been something I dreamed up,” you say. “Are you still willing to fulfill your promise?”

Alastor presses a kiss on the crown on your feathers. “I was in this dream of yours?”

“You always are, especially when you have this special talent of finding my last nerve and tap dancing all over it,” you say with a snort. “So, are you going to fulfill your promise? A proper kiss this time, please.”

“A doting husband always does so.”

“I never said that.”

“You did.”

The wind blows as you sit on the steps. It pushes feathers to your face. Alastor tucks them away, letting the loose strands flow through his fingers. He holds your face, and you would like to believe that his fingers were carved to perfectly fit along the outline. It could also be the other way around.

Even in this lifetime, his lips are chapped. The cracks poke you when Alastor hover above, brushing his mouth ever so slightly on the skin of your cheek.

You pull on his monocle, discarding the thing to the plants. It gets in the way of how deep you press yourself into his skin. Soft exhales mix together. Alastor’s nose pokes you as he brushes his face across the outline of your face.

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek, allowing his lips to linger for what seems like a lifetime.

The next kiss lands on your other cheek.

Alastor torments you, demanding so much space in your soul that it’s become filled with him and only him. In life. In death. In the in betweens and the afters.

A kiss to the forehead.

A kiss on the edges of your lips.

Alastor runs his thumb over the soft skin of your mouth, and your eyes flutter to a close when he finally connects your lips. The pads of his thumb go up and down into a gentle caress as he presses kiss after kiss. Your arm snakes around his back, drawing spirals on his back as you pull him into a hug.

The kisses he blesses you with are slow. It’s like he savors each and every one. Alastor kisses you like there’s no place he would rather be than using the language of your rings to write you a poem.

It’s you who pulls away first. You’re being greedy, demanding too much affection from him.

You smile at him.

Alastor smiles back at you, and leans back into a kiss, pulling you closer by the neck.

There have been lifetimes of tomorrows and there will still be many more tomorrows to experience.

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Two Weeks Before The Extermination.

There’s no television in this room. The lack of modern technology in Alastor’s room isn’t even the problem…you just…really miss that television.

Sure, soap operas are trash. So, what? Who cares if it doesn’t make sense that Mara and Clara are sisters? Or how a perfectly normal couple can suddenly birth a blue child that’s able to heal people with tears? Like yes, that’s not how holy water works. It’s the dumbest thing ever, but entertaining trash is still entertaining.

Alastor refuses to breathe the same air as a television, going as far as to avoid them even with you present in the room. No amount of begging or pouting convinced him to watch a single episode. You could just watch it alone, but that would mean you would be…alone.

The low dim of the fireplace and the soft music playing on the radio join to create this cozy morning atmosphere. The warm coffee around your fingers and the soft cushion of the armchair tit the whole scene together.

Something hoots from Alastor’s bayou.

That’s totally not creepy—not one bit. It does not bring a chill up your spine, and there’s totally no reason to dig yourself deeper into this plush cushion. You refused to step one foot into his bayou, preferring to stay in the part of the room that actually resembles a room. Not even the tempting offer of a picnic has you agreeing to go past the wooden floor. If Alastor refuses to watch television shows with you, then you won’t bring a single feather into his bayou.

Alastor smiles at you from the armchair across, drinking coffee like there aren’t trees and unknown animals spilling into his room.

A hesitant knock sounds from the door.

“Can I come in?” Char’s muffled voice calls from beyond the wood. “Wait, are you guys away? Oh gosh. Should I just come back later?”

You glance at the clock, checking the time then slide your eyes to Alastor. “If we stay silent, do you think Charlie will assume we’re sleeping?”

“That would be rude, my dear.”

Alastor stands from his chair, placing the coffee mug on the little table. There’s a smile on his face as he smoothens the lines of his dress pants. He walks towards the door, taking long strides. It’s as if he’s showing off just how determined he is to open the thing.

With a twist of the doorknob, Charlie comes into view.

She stills by the entrance, and gives Alastor a small wave. There’s a bright but hesitant smile on her lips. Charlie fiddles with her fingers, staring at Alastor as he blocks the opened door with his body. It keeps her from fully entering.

An awkward type of silence rises to the air.

“Al, stop messing with the poor girl, and bring her in,” you say after five painful minutes of awkward silence. It takes three long sips of coffee to kill the laughter that threatens to escape. “Good morning, Charlie.”

Alastor grabs Charlie by the shoulders, and her heels scrape the wood as she’s dragged deeper into the room. There’s this hilarious frown on Charlie’s lips. Basic manners demand you stifle all laughter. It’s simply not right to laugh at the owner of the establishment currently housing you.

Alastor offers Charlie the free arm chair. “Care to take a seat?”

“Sure…thanks,” she says, blinking, It takes her a moment to settle on the cushion. “Sooooo, how are you liking your stay here? If there’s anything bothering you, just mention it to me. I’ll be happy to try and work out a solution.”

“There’s no need to do such a thing. You’ve been so accommodating towards me,” you tell her, brushing a stray feather away. “I appreciate how silent it is here. Loud noises tend to strain my ears.”

“I’ll be sure to keep any noise down,” Charlie says. “But I’m glad to see you seem to be enjoying yourself. I really appreciate how you join our activities as well!”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Alastor decides to sit his ass on your chair. He buries himself next to you, squeezing into a chair meant for one. You bump his legs, shoving him away to gain more personal space. It’s taken as an invitation, instead. Alastor presses even closer and takes up more space.

You bump his legs once more.

 Again, Alastor squeezes closer.

There’s a strained smile on your lips when you turn back to Charlie. “I’ll tell you my secret as to why I’m enjoying myself,” you say, shoving him further away. “Any place tends to be nice when I wake up to Alastor’s snoring.”

He glares at you. “I do not snore.”

You cover your mouth as if whispering to Charlie. “He does,” you say with a lowered voice just to be infuriating. “It’s the faintest of static. It just comes out of him.”

“Whatever can we do for you?” Alastor tells Charlie, smiling as he places a hand on your shoulder. “My wife will be happy to fulfill each and every one of your requests! She’s quite handy with a sponge. Although, keep your bowls away.”

You dig your elbow into his side.

Alastor elbows you back.

“I’m actually here for the both of you. “There’s this questions that couples ask each other, and it’s supposed to deepen their relationship.” Charlie twiddles her thumbs. “I want to try them with Vaggie. Can I go through the questions with you guys first? Tell me if there are any stupid questions.”

Alastor’s smile widens to show off his teeth. “There are some bulk items we need—”

“Nonsense! I will be happy to fulfill each and every one of your requests, apparently,” you say, placing a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “And my husband would agree to anything that makes me happy. We would love to help you.”

Alastor elbows your side.

You return just as much as he gives. Maybe a little more.

There’s an adorable type of shine in Charlie’s eyes. Thank you…so much,” she says. “I’m so glad you guys are here. We are going to have so much fun!

Alastor’s coffee awaits to be finished. It’s still discarded on the table between the arm chairs. You reach for it and return his mug to him with a smile. There have been so many wasted cups of coffee-several years’ worth of coffee down the drain. There’s no need to waste anymore—not where Alastor smiles back at you.

“I think it’s endearing how you want to do this with Vaggie,” you say. “You should have seen how furious I was with Alastor—”

“When I lied” Alastor finishes for you. “Are we ever going to move past that? It’s been decades.”

“Never.”

Charlie tilts her head, furrowing her eyebrows. “Wait…,” she says, slowly. “You know Vaggie was an exorcist. How? You weren’t there when we announced it.”

Your eyes flicker to Alastor for the briefest of moments.

Alastor makes it a point no to look your way.

“You told her?” Charlie exclaims, gaping at him. “I mean…I’m not mad or anything.  Vaggie thought it would be better to tell you afterwards or if you decided to stay permanently. We just didn’t want to scare you away.”

“I thought it was common knowledge already…?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, and the base of his ears flicker down with annoyance. “Dearest, when has anything I told you over morning coffee ever been ‘common knowledge’?”

“Well, I’ll tell you this ....It was common knowledge to everyone when Ally from neuro cheated on her girlfriend.”

“Do tell!” Alastor takes a sip of coffee. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“The room they were in? It happened to be one that had an intercom that connected to the whole building,” you say, laughing. “Every little sound was broadcasted to every floor!”

Charlie’s eyes bulge a little, and she leans ever so closer.

Alastor reaches over you, grabbing the coffee pot. A snap of his fingers, and a whole new coffee mug appears in his hand. There’s a filled mug being handed to Charlie. She takes it without thinking, leaning on the edge of her seat.

“That isn’t even the worst part,” you say, fiddling with the handle of the mug. “The person Ally was with? The father.”

“The father?” Charlie echoes with disbelief. “That’s horrible!”

“Oh, my dear, it was. Believe me…it was,” you say. “What a horrible day to have ears.”

“So how did the girlfriend react?”

You press your shoulder closer to Alastor, slightly leaning your weight on him. “The girlfriend works as an accountant for the hospital and heared the whole thing. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time her father’s done suc—”

“Shall we head to the questions?” Alastor grabs the coffee pot, taking it upon himself to refill all the mugs. “There are actually some deliveries that need to be arranged.”

Charlie blinks and leans back into the cushions of the arm chair. “Right…Yes, of course.” She brings out her phone, swiping down the screen. “I guess we should just jump right in?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay…The first question asks you what your most treasured possession could be.”

There’s a box on top of Alastor’s fireplace. It’s hidden in plain sight, blending with all the other stray items he likes to keep as decorations. The painted designs faded years ago. It should have been left at home, but you found yourself pocketing the box to take with you.

“It’s just this old box,” you say, studying the rim of the mug. “It’s quite expensive. It took at least forty-years to save up for it.”

“Oh, what’s inside?”

“That wasn’t the question.” You take a sip of coffee, letting the liquid slosh down your esophagus. “I believe it’s your turn now, deerest.”

Alastor loves his personal space. It’s something he makes perfectly clear. However, it seems he also loves your personal space. He places an arm around your shoulders, shaking your like a rattle “Why, it’s right here” he exclaims. “I couldn’t have asked for a better dishwasher despite the magnitude of broken bowls. It’s quite the attractive model.”

“Stop it.” You swat his hand when the coffee around your fingers threaten to spill. “Go finish your coffee.”

Alastor slides his eyes to Charlier, watching her reactions as he inches further into your personal space. “Should I change that rule?”

“It’s his microphone.” You push his face away, rolling your eyes at him. “He never goes anywhere without it, and hardly allows anyone to touch it.”

“I allow you to hold it all the time.”

The way you sip your coffee hides your smile. “I’m not just anyone, now, am I?”

Charlie groans in her palms, pushing strands of her hair behind her face. It’s funny to see how her lips twist into the adorable sort of frown.

“Oh, stop it.” Alastor flicks your nose. “Finish your coffee.”

The armchair squeezes the both of you into this small space. It’s much more comfortable to just press together. You lean closer into his personal space, allowing yours to mix with his, and wrap your arms around Alastor’s neck. The strands of his hair brush against your skin.

“Charlie…,” you begin, inching closer, “be a good girl and close your eyes.”

There’s a loud groan escaping her mouth. She sulks into the chair as if she was being deflated. “Seriously?”

“Go on,” Alastor says, urging her with a smile. He leans ever so slightly into you.

Charlie closes her eyes.

There’s a stray strand that slides down Alastor’s hair. You brush it away, letting the strands flow through your fingers. There’s a smile on your face when you press a kiss on the edge of his mouth. It lingers longer than it should.

The tips of Alastor’s ears flicker, and you snatch his mug. It gets tossed into the fireplace

Alastor grabs your chin with the tips of his fingers, and steals a kiss.

“Can I continue now, or should I just leave?” Charlie snorts, eyes firmly shut. “I swear, Mom and Dad were exactly like this—it’s kind of cute.”

Alastor presses one last kiss on your cheek. “Let’s continue!”

The mug around your fingers gets snatched. Alastor takes a sip of coffee. It seems this is a shared coffee mug now. “You can open your eyes now.”

Charlie stares at the both of you, taking one good look and sighs. The phone’s pulled out again as she reads the next question. “Is there a personality trait or skill that the other possesses that you wish you had.”

“I do wish I could be as proficient with words as you are.” You take the shared coffee mug from Alastor and take a mouthful. “The most horrible things come out of your mouth in such a poetic way.”

“That’s too sweet.”

“And quite the ridiculous question,” Alastor says, rolling his eyes. “If there’s a trait or skill I want, then I simply acquire them or someone who can. There’s no use wondering about such things”

You snort at him. “Well, humility certainly isn’t a trait you would wish to possess.”

“Charlie, close your eyes.” Alastor inches closer, pressing his weight into you. There isn’t enough space in the arm chair to lean away.

There’s that hilarious frown on Charlie’s lips again, but she does as she’s told. “Again? Will you be doing this every time?”

Alastor leans away, and drinks a mouthful of coffee. A delighted hum escapes him as he savors the taste.

It’s quite peaceful. There’s this type of silence that takes over. One meant to be enjoyed during the early mornings. The crackle of the fireplace and the soft tunes of the radio blend into the background of the scene. You chuckle at Alastor and drink from the mug when he offers it to you. The morning becomes peaceful once more. You and Alastor squeeze into an armchair made for one, drinking coffee in silence.

Charlie squirms in her seat with closed eyes. 

It takes five minutes of silence for her to summon the courage to speak up

“Uh…” Charlie plays with the ends of her ponytail, twirling the loose strands of her hair around her fingers. “I hope you’re aware that I’m…you know…still here?”

You bark a laugh, leaning your head on Alastor’s biceps. “You can open your eyes now.”

Her eyes peek open, slow and hesitant.

Loud laughter echoes around the room and into the bayou. “I apologize, sweetheart. We’re just pulling your leg,” you say. “Let’s continue on to the next question?”

Charlie rolls her eyes and brings out her phone once more. “Alright then…Is there something you’ve been keeping from each other?” she asks. “Oh, I guess it’s like a secret or a confession you haven’t mentioned before.”

An answer pops into your mind. It demands to be said out loud. That demand is ignored. Who does it think it is to ask you to heed against its requests?

“I think you own too many radios,” you tell Alastor instead. It’s a safe answer. “There certainly doesn’t need to be three in the bathroom.”

Charlie tilts her head. “Why would you need three?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the last few decades of our marriage,” you say. “Sometimes, I think he can hear me through the speakers.”

“Alastor can’t actually do that, right?” Charlie glances at him. “…Right?”

Alastor grabs your face, squishing your cheeks. His eyes flicker all over your face, studying your every reaction. “You thought of something.”

The sound of your heartbeat echoes in your ears. “I thought of the radios in the bathroom.”

“What did you think about?” Alastor says, shaking your cheeks. “I know when you lie to me, dearest.”

Charlie gives you a thumbs up with a bright smile.

“Answer the question, my love.”

The sound of your heartbeat echoes louder. The answer refuses to be held back, coerced by Alastor’s demand. You pull Alastor’s hand off your cheeks. “I broke your piano.”

The confession lifts a weight off your chest.

“I was just at home.” Alastor squints at you. “Our piano is fine.”

You sulk into the cushion of the arm chair. “I meant the piano at the old house.”

“How did you even manage to break one of those?” Charlie asks. “Those things are quite large.”

It’s somehow possible to hide yourself deeper into the chair cushion. “I used Alastor’s bat and just…swung.”

“Oh! Oh! This would be a great opportunity,” she says, eyes shining. “Would you like to say anything to Alastor?”

There’s quite a lot you would like to say. “I apologize for breaking your piano.”

“And how did that feel?”

“Great, actually. I’ve been keeping this for decades.” It’s impossible to keep the lid of secrets now that it’s open. “Is this the wrong time to say I used the bat to smash your radios?”

The mug shatters from Alastor’s grip. The shards fall to the wooden floor.

Alastor pulls out a handkerchief. It has his name neatly embroidered. He wipes his hands, drying the drips of coffee. There’s a pleasant smile on his face. That’s totally not worrying.

Alastor stands and suddenly, the armchair sits one. He places a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Can you give me and my wife a moment?”

Charlie’s eyes slide to you as she rises to her feet.

The way you shake your head with vigor strains your neck. You try to send Charlie a message. Please don’t leave. Charlie, stay here! Please stay.

Alastor doesn’t allow Charlie the opportunity to respond.

He grabs her by the shoulders. Once more, her heels scrap the floor as she’s dragged to the door. It would be funny if you aren’t calculating how much scolding you were to receive.

You fucked up. Oh, you fucked up big time.

The door locks, and your sentence seals.

Alastor’s fingers linger at the doorknob. The base of his antlers grows…then it shrinks. The pattern continues for one long minute. It grows and shrinks as if Alastor doesn’t fully know what to do with them.

Symbols glitch into the air. It disappears just as quickly as it manifested.

The sound of cracking bones catches your ears. It has you sulking into the cushions of your chair, a pout on your lips.

The expansion of limbs and the slow growth of antlers forces you to press your hands into your face. You peek at Alastor through the slits of your fingers.  His antlers are so long now, growing like tree branches. Faint stitching outlines the edges of his cheek as he smiles with sharpened teeth. The lines around his body sharpen with an edge to it

Static buzzes around the room. It emanates from the radios, and from Alastor himself. Tingles run down your skin.  Alastor takes wide steps as his body continues to crack with expansion. “Let’s have a talk.”

The lights flicker all around, and a faint green glows into the room.

You shake your head, still peeking at him through your fingers.

His left eye morphs into radio dials. Alastor blinks and his pupils return to their original form. Another blink, and the full force of the radio dials gaze into your soul.

“…Deerest,” you mumble into your palms. “If you continue to look like that, talking will be the last thing I would want to do with you.”

Alastor’s neck snaps as he tilts his head. “Look at me

Once more, you shake your head and press deeper into your palms.

It takes a moment for his bones to snap back into place. The lights stop flickering, and his shadow pulls back into his body. Gone are the growing antlers, and the glowing radio dials to look into your soul.

Alastor takes your wrist, peeling it off your face. “Can we talk now?”

“I’m sorry about your stuff,” you say, quickly. “It wasn’t right of me to do so.”

There it is again. Alastor’s thumb goes up and down the bare skin of your wrists. It’s such a small act. Does he do this on purpose? Is he even aware of such a motion?

You give Alastor the most innocent smile you could produce. “I think this is an even worse time to mention that I burned down—”

“What, my house?” The tips of Alastor’s ears sharpen. “You burned down my house?”

Your lips twist as you sulk deeper into yourself. “Yes…?”

Alastor runs a hand over his hair and turns his back to you. The air glitches once more. It appears and disappears as if it’s unwanted. He runs another hand over his hair, and turns back to you with a sharp glare.

“You know what?” you say, and you can’t help but glare back. “No, I’m not sorry.”

“I hardly care if you feel sorry or if you don’t.” Alastor’s smile wobbles. “I could care less. Just stop saying it like that.”

“Like how?” you say, grumbling. “I’m confused right now. Do you want me to apologize or not?”

Alastor reaches for your hand, pulling it closer to him. He traces the cool metal of your ring.  “Your piano. Your Radio. My house,” he says, and his smile strains ever so slightly. “You speak as if those weren’t all yours as well. As if it was only me in that house.”

Your thumb moves up and down to caress him. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

Alastor pulls away from you. The smile on his face becomes one thin line as he squints with annoyance. His ears flick down. Alastor looks at everything except you. You have to hide your face into the palms of your hands. The heat of your face spreads all over. It seems Alastor’s correct—you are ridiculous.

Alastor begins to walk away, but you grab his hand to keep him in place.

Just a moment. That’s all you need.

You intertwine your fingers around his, refusing to release your hold. Just a moment. That’s all you need. The clock ticks, and you stay like this, hands intertwined for what seems like a lifetime.

Up and down. Up and down. Alastor’s thumb brushes you. Part of you hopes he never stops.

“It wasn’t…,” you begin, searching for the courage to continue. “It wasn’t right of me to destroy our piano, and our radios, and our bookshelves, and burn down…our home.”

Alastor kneels to search your eyes, tilting your chin to look at you. It’s still red, and still brighter than starlight. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

You take his hand, playing with the tips of his fingers. There’s a ring on his finger that matches yours. You plant the gentlest of kisses on his ring. “It’s because of this.”

Alastor tilts his head, raising his eyebrows at you.

“It’s alright if you don’t understand. That was something I hope you will never have to find you,” you tell him, brushing your thumb on his face. “My love, I hope you will never understand.”

Alastor brushes a feather away from your face with a smile. The things you would do to keep him smiling. It doesn’t even have to be towards you. Just keep him smiling.

Please…Please never let him find out.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

|Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall| Alastor’s love language is just being the biggest nuisance, and we love him for that. Taglist: @mybrainsautocorrect @ray-rook @valentique @qardasngan @valentique @teavibesaf @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @reikamasama @slaggylemon @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @littledolly2345 @b-o-n-e-daddy @infinitefox @ayyyyyy-vase @kny-kween @amoraneuro @obessivlyonline @@@@soohaneul @@stelen-sweethearts

[rhettabbotts]

Shelby, my love, happy spooky season! 🎃

For your celebration, how about dilf! Rhett and the babysitter with the prompts: “it’s dark outside, and it’s raining. my arms are much safer. “ and  “this is my favorite time of year, you know that?” 

november flush- dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: a rain storm stops you from leaving rhett’s.

warnings: some suggestive language and actions. cuddling. kissing in the dark.

a/n: i decided to combine these two asks since they were nearly the same. great minds think alike hehe! @wkndwlff and @laracrofted i hope you enjoy <3

Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance, dark rain clouds looming over the mountain tops and Rhett could smell the rain in the air. They finally moved the rest of the herd into the east pasture and he was ready to call it quits for the day.

It was like the skies opened up and sheets of rain started beating down on him and the bunkhouse boys. They all ran in different directions seeking shelter. Rhett made a break for the house, wincing as the cold rain pierced his skin.

You were sitting on the couch waiting for the clock to strike 8 o’clock. It was nearly the end of your shift. The girls were fed and bathed and tucked into bed. You settled into the cushions with a warm cup of hot cocoa and you turned the television on for white noise.

The book you were reading nearly flew out of your hands as someone came barreling through the front door. Much to your surprise it was Rhett. He was soaked to the bone, Wranglers and flannel clinging to him like a second skin. Tendrils of graying hair stuck to his forehead as droplets of water fell to the hardwood floor.

“Is it that bad?” You questioned, biting back the giggle at the look Rhett gave you.

“Nah, it’s actually pleasant. You wanna go check it out?” Rhett bit back playfully as he toed off his worn out boots.

“I’m good right where I’m at.”

“I bet you are. I’m gonna go change and shower. Don’t think about leaving until that settles down. Bad storm was rolling in over the ridge.”

Rhett peeled the flannel from his body and you bit your lip at the way his white t-shirt clung to his chest, outlining every muscle and curve.

“Quit giving me that look, little freak. I’ll be back in a bit.”

He bounced up the stairs and you tried to lose yourself in your book once again but you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to the man that was upstairs.

Rhett eventually traveled back down and threw his body onto the opposite end of the couch, grabbing your ankles and pulling you closer towards him. Even from where you sat, you could feel his body heat. His arms and cheeks were still slightly pink from the hot shower.

“I really do have to go before my dad starts to worry.”

“Shhhh… it’s dark out. And it’s raining. Bad. My arms are a much safer place for you to be,” he said as tugged you into his lap with ease, strong arms wrapping around your middle. He placed soft kisses to your jaw, across your cheek, and even one to the tip of your nose.

“You pose a great argument, sir,” you smiled as you nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his scent.

“Wanna watch a scary movie?”

“Just as long as I can stay right where I’m at.”

“Of course, sweetheart. You know, this really is my favorite time of year. We oughta go hike tomorrow if the rain’s cleared out. The leaves will be beautiful,” Rhett suggested as he pulled a blanket over the two of you and turned on Poltergeist.

“That sounds like an amazing plan.”

“I love you. So much. One day, I’m gonna marry you,” Rhett whispered softly as he pressed a kiss to your hairline.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

[unitedbydevils]

Match Review: Manchester United 4-3 Liverpool (AET)

My heart. I can't. United are off to Wembley, and I'm off to hospital because I think i'm dying.

BRACE FOR A LOAD OF TWEET REFERENCES TOO.

United struck early at Old Trafford and it FELT like it would be our day. We were playing free flowing football, not that Liverpool weren't at the races, but we looked like a rival not an underdog.

Mainoo class, Rashford sharp, Garnacho drawing defenders, Hojlund holding up the ball, Bruno dictating play, McTominay... being saucey... and then bang he scores. SCENES.

This pressure lasted til around the 40th minute and then United fell apart and conceded 2. Classic.

Freddy here queries the focus, but as the image below shows, United without a proper no6 like Casemiro (because McSauce ain't that) are just two disconnected attack/defence units and it's pants.

Mainoo should be an 8. Bruno IS a 10. McTominay is a 10. Mount is an 8. Maybe Amrabat wouldn't have been the right choice, but he would have filled this pocket.

It's tricky for Ten Hag though. McTominay is an ENGINE and evidently committed, and scores important goals, even if he isn't an ideal fit. It's tricky to not pick deserving players.

The hope had faded at the end of the first half, and things were a bit sour. United looked knackered, were showing the cracks of this season all over again, and that frustration was coming out in the form of Captain Bruno's petulence.

I don't personally thing Erik Ten Hag wants United to be so disconnected. I just also think his team NEEDS a ball-playing CB (we only have Martinez) and a proper 6 (ageing Case, unfancied Amra). Two crucial positions to be filled, and that's ignoring the zero depth at CF and the issues form or injury issues at RW/LB.

Second half saw a second chance for United, and none other than substitute Antony scored the equaliser. What.

ETH went full Ranieri tinkerman mode too.

Antony LB, Bruno quarterback, Eriksen deep, Amad on, Mount on later... a full madness occurred and it was amazing.

Praise came through from the fans too - even amidst the tension. Onana had a very good game, Garnacho was everywhere, Mainoo so classy on the ball... hard to call out anyone being poor.

Then of course United conceded yet another deflected goal...

But before that 2-3 position, United COULD have won it at the death in normal time if Rashford had finished - and it wasn't his only missed chance.

The storyline loves a twist and turn though. 3-3 Rashford.

United are on adrenaline now. Buzzing. The Old Trafford atmosphere is fever pitch. Everyone's knackered, cramping, puffing like old dogs, but still both sides battled on. A proper cup showdown.

Fans on both sides were beginning to feel sick.

At 3 all, everyone feared the worst: penalties. You can't deny though that today's game was the pinnacle of a mad weekend of FA Cup football. City Newcastle aside, we had the shock turnaround of Coventry beating Wolves, Chelsea Leicester going the distance, and now United Liverpool. Sensational viewing.

As the end of extra time loomed, Liverpool's attack was broken down and the counter was on. Garnacho - who it felt like had sprinted all game long - and Amad alongside. Two kids against the world, tearing it down the pitch. Shit pass from Alejandro, recovered well by Amad, slight feint, step, weasels it past Kelleher and gently in off the inside of the right post like a snooker finish.

That's all in slow motion, but the crowd and the explosion of noise was like we'd just won at life. Volume. Kids crying with joy. Amad sent off for taking his shirt off to celebrate. Amad-ness. Amazing.

And lo, United did win 4-3 at the death at home to book a semi final at Wembley against Coventry. Not that lower teams have been easier (hi Newport) but I also have more faith in Chelsea of the 3 of us to hurt City.

So yeah, Klopp's hopes of a fairytale season ending are over. I love shit like that. Ruining the party is part of the fun of it all.

We're all knackered, but we're all buzzing. This weekend has been mint, and how often can you say that about a United game eh? Up the fucking reds, and on to Wembley!

[doctorguilty]

Mental health

I guess it wasn't all for nothing I basically just came face to face with some hard truths about the way I've been minimizing my suffering and life and a bunch of stuff, it's a bit too personal as much as I otherwise like to overshare, but it's just like the other day in therapy my therapist brought to light some very observable patterns in stuff I'd say, and confronting myself afterwards over how unhealthy it is was rough, it hit me really hard, it's not like a personal failing though it really is just.. stuff rooted in my deep sense of worthlessness.. my belief that my suffering is of lesser importance than others, etc

The other hard part to it all was talking to my partner about how it impacts my health and future and just .. spilling it all out, getting their perspective, admitting I need more help than I have ever asked for, fearing rejection as someone like me does.. a big looming thing over me is the likihood my partner may not be able to move in with me as soon as we planned (which was gonna be early next year) and like again it's personal but it's all tied together like my self worth and things blah blah blah, but just being like the way I am living I am so unhappy I have been unhappy for so long, I've never had a happy place to live, it's at the point where my physical health is worsening because of the impact mentally and I can't stay in this dark tunnel like this where I'm losing more and more every day, more energy, more health, I can't make it outdoors as much I can't draw and do art as much it's at the point where even playing video games is getting harder my brain is like, that of an animal in a tiny cage that just lies around waiting to die, I could go on, but it's going to get worse soon with seasonal depression and more chronic pain, etc.

Anyway I digress the hard truth is my situation isn't sustainable no matter how much I myself it's fine because my bar for quality of life is on the floor and I dont have the resources to make it better. I just don't. So I admitted it.. it was hard, but I am relieved because my partner loves me and does not want to see me hurt like this and pretend it's good enough. It's not. They know it's not.

So there's been some new talk of plans, what can be done if a home together is not yet possible, something other than, I just wait and try to like, keep myself alive and just accept that's the bar that's all I get, being not dead. It's perhaps a possibility to help me afford to move out of my poor environment and support me while I get my health in order and not feel incapacitated by hopelessness. I that's what we touched base on! P much! The reality of things and agreeing I need (and deserve, allegedly <- self hate moments) a better quality of life and not allowing my misery to be the best compromise.

I'm grateful to be loved by someone who wouldn't just.. flip the table over in me and tell me I'm nothing but a burden and dead weight.. I'm grateful to be something a person as wonderful as my partner feels I'm worth investing in..

We're gonna talk about it more in person soon.. and probably what I need to do is get my disability application back on the front burner (is that an expression) as much of a pain it will be to dig up 8+ years of documents I need to reference for it.. but I just think.. that is a way more sustainable life, if we can't move in together soon.. if I am not suffering in a toxic environment (for the first time ever 🥲 ) I can last for years if need be, the long distance would feel less oppressive for sure when my life isn't just a depression fog and yearning to be saved. If they can save me NOW, I will be LESS wounded and sick when we ARE living together, that's for sure.

I just like having a plan anyway. I hate stagnation. I hate this dark tunnel. The moment I got some news that made the light shot miles further again, became a pinprick of light, I spiraled downward. I've been miserable. I need to get out. I need it now, not a mystery number of years from now. But just talking about it, putting it all out there and being told, yes I will help you, I don't want to see you suffer anymore just because of circumstances changing, it felt like a weight off me. At least that is something for now..

If you read this far I'm impressed. You must be pretty invested in my life, which is flattering ;×;

[travelnew]

Sunrise at Kalsubai, the TALLEST peak of Maharashtra

Build up before the sunrise from Kalsubai or KalsuAai:

Pic 1: Moon and Antares.

Pic 2 & 3: Venus & Mars in the dawn before sunrise.

Pic 4 & 5: Blue hour.

Pics 6 to 11: Sunrise.

Night trek to watch the sunrise from Kalsubai on 3rd March 2024.

↑ KalsuAai temple at the top of Kalsubai peak ↑

This blog post is divided as follows

Experience.

How to go (with GPS trail)?

Time frame.

Expenses.

Photos. 1. Experience.

We were 16 of us together and we called ourselves, "sweet 16" & the sharing and caring under able leadership of my friend, DrJVT was wonderful.

↑ Trailhead ↑

LONG QUEUES TO ASCEND & DESCEND LASTING MORE THAN AN HOUR with unruly tourists masquerading as trekkers is the norm now.

↑ Serpentine queue to climb the ladder. The 4 long ladders en route make the trek safe, but now you need patience to cross them. ↓

2. How to go?

Grade - medium, since it is a long trek. Best part of night trek is that since you cannot see anything beyond the short reach of the torch, the sense of distance is not felt and one reaches quickly. In he daytime, when Kalsubai looms large over you, it really feels long in the hot sun.

Check out the WikiLoc GPS trail of our trek from base village, Bari to Kalsubai temple at the top.

Trailhead shown above with arrow.

Two non-AC 8-seater Omni passenger vans were hired from Kasara railway statiion to Bari & back.

3. Time frame:

2/3/24 Saturday night.

Second last train to Kasara reaches at 1:30 am on 3/3/24.

3/3/24 Sunday night.

1:45 am - start from Kasara to Bari in vehicle.

3:15 am reach Bari.

3:30 am - trek starts.

7 am - reach temple at the peak.

9:45 am - descent trek starts.

12:30 pm - reach Bari & return journey to Kasara in vehicle starts.

2 pm - reach Kasara railway station.

2:40 pm - train from Kasara taken.

6 pm - home sweet home.

4. Expenses:

70/- rick between home to station (twice).

70/- return train ticket.

400/- Maruti Omni Van ferrying 8 passengers = 3200/- total.

200/- snacks.

TOTAL = 740/- per head in TTMM as usual!

5. Photos:

↑ Kalsubai top seen from base village, Bari. ↑

↑ The temple above the base village Bari, where the trailhead exists. ↑

Some randomly clicked boards & numbers taken of villagers.

In March 2024: Balu Khade was providing twin or triple sharing tent with foam mattress for insulation on the floor with breakfast & dinner at Kalsubai peak, for 1000 INR/- per person (These things are variable and will change as per season, demand & supply).

This was my third trek to Kalsubai. Check out my 2016's daytime Kalsubai trek & my night trek to Kalsubai in 2022.

[namohlogistictips]

What factors affect the cost of long-distance moving? 📦💸

Moving is an exciting but often daunting journey. As you prepare to relocate your life to a new home, one question looms large: "How much will it cost?" The answer is not as straightforward as you might think. The price of moving services by Packers and Movers Jabalpur depends on a multitude of factors, and understanding these influencers can help you plan your budget effectively. Let's dive into the complex world of moving costs, unpacking the key factors that impact your final bill. 🏡✨

1. Distance Traveled 🛣️

The primary factor that can significantly affect moving costs is the distance between your current and new locations. Long-distance moves with the help of packers and movers in Jabalpur require more time, fuel, and often multiple drivers or a larger vehicle. Generally, the farther you move, the more you can expect to pay. 🚚💰

2. Move Size and Weight 📦🏋️

The volume and weight of your belongings play a pivotal role in determining the cost of your move. More items and heavier loads will necessitate larger trucks and more labor, which translates to higher costs. movers and packers in Jabalpur typically calculate charges based on the cubic feet or weight of your items. So, consider decluttering and downsizing before moving day to save on costs. 🪣🧹

3. Time of Year 🗓️

Peak moving seasons, typically spring and summer, can come with higher price tags. During these busy periods, Packers and Movers Balaghat companies are in high demand, and rates may rise accordingly. To potentially save money, consider scheduling your move during the off-peak seasons, such as late fall or winter. 🍂❄️

4. Time of the Month 🗓️

The specific day and time you choose to move can also impact costs. Weekends and the beginning or end of the month are often more expensive due to high demand. Mid-week and mid-month moves tend to be more budget-friendly options. ⏳💲

5. Packing Services 📦📦

The decision to pack your belongings yourself or hire professional packing services can influence your moving expenses. While DIY packing can save money, it may also put your items at a higher risk of damage. Opting for full or partial packing services from packers and movers Satna Moving Company may come with an additional fee but provides peace of mind. 📦👨‍🔧

6. Additional Services 🏠🧰

If you have special requirements, such as disassembling and reassembling furniture, handling fragile or valuable items, or navigating stairs or elevators, you may be charged extra for these services. Be sure to communicate all your needs with the moving company to receive an accurate quote. 🪑💎

7. Insurance and Valuation Coverage 📜🛡️

The level of insurance and valuation coverage you select can impact the cost of your move. Basic liability coverage is often included, but if you opt for additional insurance or valuation protection, you'll pay more for that peace of mind. It's essential to understand what is and isn't covered and decide accordingly. 📄🔒

8. Accessibility and Parking 🚗🏡

The ease of access to your current and new homes can impact costs. If the moving truck can park close to your residence, the process is more efficient, and your bill might be lower. However, if parking is restricted, or the distance between the truck and your home is significant, expect additional charges for the extra labor involved. 🅿️🏠

9. Special Items and Services 🎹🖼️

Special items such as pianos, artwork, or antiques require extra care and handling, often involving custom packaging and specialized equipment. These items can add significant costs to your move. Be sure to inform your moving company about any unique items that require special attention. 🎨🎸

10. Destination Services 🏡📦

Your destination can also affect the cost of your move. If your new home is in a remote or difficult-to-reach location, it may require additional resources and time for the moving company, resulting in higher fees. 🌄🛣️

11. Hidden Fees 🕵️‍♂️💼

It's crucial to read your moving contract thoroughly and be aware of any potential hidden fees. These can include fuel surcharges, shuttle service charges, or fees for delays beyond your control. Being informed and proactive can help you avoid unpleasant surprises on a moving day. 🔍🧐

12. Reputation and Quality of the Moving Company 🏆👷

The reputation and quality of the moving company you choose can also influence costs. Well-established and reputable packers and movers in Indore may charge higher rates, but the peace of mind and reliability they offer are often worth the investment. Do your research, read reviews, and ask for recommendations to make an informed decision. 🌐👍

In Conclusion: Plan Wisely, Save Wisely

Moving is a significant life event, and it's crucial to understand the factors that can affect the cost of your move. By carefully considering these factors and planning your move effectively, you can avoid surprises and ensure a smoother and more budget-friendly transition to your new home. Remember, a well-thought-out moving strategy can help you not only save money but also reduce stress and make the entire experience more enjoyable. 🏡🚚💰

So, whether you're relocating to a new city or just down the street, keep these key influencers of moving costs in mind and embark on your journey with confidence. Happy moving! 📦🏠😊

[alphareleasemedia]

Daily Drabbles for 8/20/23 - 8/28/23

8/20/23 Princess Fufu sniffed daintily as she dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. Allergy season was in full swing and the princess had been dreadfully afflicted. It had gotten to the point that she could no longer take her afternoon strolls through the gardens without coming down in a fit of sneezing. Princess Fufu had had to find ways to amuse herself indoors. Though even that couldn't fully protect her from all the allergens abundant in the air. Just now she'd had the embarrassment of sneezing directly into the duke's tea. It was his own fault for bringing her flowers.

8/21/23 The river flowed by in a rush. The water a thick gray from glacial silt. She picked up a piece of driftwood, the bark worn smooth from the river. She turned it over in her hand before throwing it back to the water. The wood landed lightly floating along the top of the river as it was swiftly swept away. She next picked up a smooth dark gray river stone. It landed in the water with a great splash and loud plop. She grabbed a larger stone and hurled it out into the middle of the river. A big splash.

8/22/23 The rain fell in tiny pinpricks of moisture misting the air. The surrounding world had turned into a cloud of washed out gray. Off in the distance the dark outline of a looming mountain could just be made out. In the small circle of world that could be seen was ringed with scrawny pine trees pointing up like fuzzy needles. Sturdy shrubs sprung up between the trees. Lichen and bushes filled out the underbrush. Somewhere off in the trees a bird called out, but other than that there was no sign of any wildlife in the immediate surrounding wilderness area.

8/23/23 Sally sighed as she stared off into the beautiful vista before her. The sun had immerged from behind the clouds and lit up the whole world in a stunning display of colors. From the blue mountains stretching off into the distance to the vast array of greens from muted to vibrant to the streaks of red and yellow dotting the landscape with some delightful variation. It was all so beautiful, Sally could hardly believe her eyes. It didn't seem like any of it could be real. Looking around her, Sally felt as if she'd stepped into a Bob Ross painting.

8/24/23 There was no butter to be found, but Marcie really wasn't a fan of putting margerine on her toast. Her eyes scanned the shelves of the fridge, searching for what, she couldn't say. Marcie didn't want jam, not with her eggs, and various other spreads for her toast didn't sound good to her when paired with fried eggs. Marcie turned to the counter where said eggs were quickly cooling. The toaster was due to pop any second and if Marcie was going to be spreading cold margerine on her toast then she needed to be ready when it did pop.

8/25/23 There was a lot of bright light and noise coming from the TV, but Suzy had tuned it all out. All the lights were off in the livingroom leaving it dark and cozy. Suzy was stretched out on the couch with a blanket thrown over her and a pillow behind her head. It was very comfortable and Suzy found her eyelids starting to droop. She had seen the movie before, so she didn't mind missing a few moments here and there as she lightly dozed. A large explosion filled the screen as Suzy yawned and finally gave in to sleep.

8/26/23 I started coughing almost as soon as the cold air hit my lungs. Not so much from the cold itself, though that could make me cough sometimes, but from the recent rain which had stirred something up that my respitory system did not like at all. It was definitely a plant of some kind. As I moved farther away from the building and down the path that wound through the trees my coughing only got worse. I tried covering my face with my arm as I hurried along towards the parking lot, but that didn't help much. The coughing continued.

8/27/23 Ferk tried to wipe away the sweat that was threatening to drip off his forehead but only succeeded in getting it in his eyes anyway. He grumbled as he drew his stinging eyes across his sleave. Ferk was well and truly tired of being outside. It was a hot day. With no clouds or even a light breeze to offer any relief from the oppression of the sun. Ferk glared up at it out of the corner of a reddened eye as another drop of sweat rolled off the tip of his nose. Served him right for getting the mail.

8/28/23 Bikendi shifted the sucker in his mouth from one cheek to the other as he examined the bowl of candies. It was all hard candies, which weren't usually his favorite, but Bikendi was in the mood for something sweet and he'd take what he could get. He cracked the sucker in his mouth in two and started chewing on the pieces as he pulled a caramel from the bowl. He knew that wasn't how you were supposed to eat hard candies, but he didn't care. He liked the crunch. Though it did mean Bikendi went through candies a lot faster.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Season 3 left feel salty about Alucard not getting his happiness. So may I request for post season 3 imagines please about Alucard meet a empathetic, intelligent human lady whose is a herbalist (not a witch. Something that Lisa does) (whose personality and appearance is like Belle from Beauty and Beast) and their relationship being like Beauty and the Beast.

A/N: I’m ALIVE!!!! School has tried hard to vanquish me but it has FAILED! I HAVE RISEN VICTORIOUS!!! At least for this semester. It was a big challenge transitioning to fully online courses so I must apologize for the hiatus in writings. Being on the computer for school for 8+ hours straight, the last thing I wanted to do in my free time was to stare at another screen with a deadline weighing on my shoulders. But I’m back baby! And with 21 pages for this ask, holie-molie!

OH, AND I HAVE A KOFI NOW! I know times have been hard and money has been tight for everyone, but if you like what you’ve read here, please consider donating to my virtual tip jar here: [x]. There’s no obligation. Right now I answer asks and write Imagines for fun. That might change in the future, and I might open up on more of a commission basis, but that’ll depend on my schedule and how everything goes. 

❀    ⭒    ❀    ⭒    ❀

The winter winds were much worse than expected. Shivering, you tugged your cloak even closer to your body for what must have been the hundredth time that day. Beneath you, your horse whinnied at your constant wiggling. The sky was crystal clear when you had set out earlier. The weather shouldn’t have changed this fast. 

You weren’t incredibly well-educated on the seasons, but you knew enough about them as an indirect consequence of your area of expertise. You were a herbalist and had studied the properties of plants- both native and foreign- for years. Of course, more often than not this included information on the seasons; certain plants were to be sown and harvested at very different, but specific times. Your family had belonged to a long line of experts in herblore who had taken up studying the gifts of the earth for centuries. As a result, you were very adept at utilizing the natural environment around you. 

Unfortunately, in this unexpected icy-tundra, you feared your knowledge of natural properties would do you no good. Something was haunting about the snow that fell here, you could just feel it. The air itself was well below freezing but the snowy droplets themselves were almost warm to the touch. You sensed a sinister atmosphere behind such circumstances. It felt as if someone, or something, from above intended to punish the beings in this realm. A part of you wished to flee, to distance yourself from whatever entity was suffering retribution. Even then, a strong resilient voice inside your heart told you that you were no quitter and certainly not a coward. So, despite the feeling of dread looming over you, you trekked on. 

You had received a mysterious letter a little over two months ago from an anonymous sender asking you to come at once to a certain clearing in Wallachia. If you weren’t mistaken, the land once belonged to a prominent family, some tens of years ago. You heard the rumors of how they had been either killed or driven out, but this letter insisted that some new person, or people, had seized occupancy of the place. You knew your family was known within many secret circles, and this letter insisted that this former great family, the Belmonts, belonged to one such circle. 

The letter suggested that once again, your services were needed. Although what for, the anonymous sender did not say. You supposed it was safer that way. If this family was indeed persecuted long ago, it was better to be vague in their instructions. Perhaps it was an attempt to reunite each of your families’ services with one another? In exchange for medical aid and advice, you would be equipped with holy weapons and knowledge of supernatural creatures. And with the recent happenings in Wallachia, you concluded that it was a more than fair arrangement and set out just under a week ago. 

You didn’t live far from Wallachia but the journey was anything but quick. So many people required your assistance on the way, and despite the principal objective of reuniting with the great, long lost Belmont family looming over your head, you had chosen to stay when necessary and help in any way you could. It was just that the people you’d met were living in such pitiable conditions, you refused to leave them unaided. You had become so invested in herbology for its abilities to help people. You made a promise, many years ago; not to anyone in particular, but a promise nonetheless to never turn your back on anyone, or anything in need- ever. You weren’t foolish enough to believe your efforts would make an impact on the overwhelming cruelty of the world, however, you stayed dutiful to your cause. Just because the world was cruel didn't mean you had to be. 

Pulled from your train of thought, your body was wracked with shivers again. 

‘Did the winds suddenly pick up again? Or perhaps,’ you wondered, ‘Was it something more?’

You pulled your mare to a stop. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and focused on the feeling. 

“Sadness.” You realized. 

You were not so alone in these woods. 

There was someone, something out there all alone, suffering. Perhaps if you located the source, you could help them. They could be hurt. And even if they were simply lonely or scared, some company might do them good. 

‘Or,’ a cynical voice in your mind interrupted, ‘They could just want to be left alone.’ 

Nevertheless, you had made a promise to help, wherever and whenever you could and this time would be no exception. 

“Come on.” You urged your horse alone. You were going to find the source of that sadness and put a stop to it. 

❀    ⭒    ❀    ⭒    ❀

What you found was not at all what you were expecting. You had anticipated some sort of humble cabin or cave-dwelling, certainly not the incredibly ornate castle which now stood before you. 

‘Perhaps the builders of the castle are the ones who sent the letter?’ 

Briefly, you considered the fact that this might be the work of the living descendants of the great Belmont family. Then again, an uneasy feeling told you there was much more to the display here than what met your eyes. 

If the Belmont’s had only recently come out of exile, why choose such an ostentatious place to reside? Surely a more understated abode would be less suspicious. Why on earth would they go and invite trouble in this way? It seemed to you like a foolish oversight. 

Still, unwise decision or not, the sight was impressive. You wished the weather wasn’t so harsh so you could stand to gawk another moment or two. However, as the biting winds picked up, you could feel another one of your digits grow numb with every passing moment.

Kicking your mare into action once more, you instructed her to trot around to the rear of the castle. A place this intricate was bound to have a nearby stable. You were still some distance from the actual entrance itself, not even having cleared the tree line of the adjacent forest, but you assumed that along with a stable, a place of this size ought to have more than one entrance and exit. 

You patted the side of your horse’s chest reassuringly. You would give the place a more serious inspection once your horse was safely out of this weather. 

Unbeknownst to you, had you ventured nearer to the front entrance, you might have noticed the two frozen corpses resting on spikes at the foot of the front steps.

❀    ⭒    ❀    ⭒    ❀

The stables were easier enough to find and, just as you’d thought, were absolutely gorgeous to look at. Everything was painted in rich, dark colors. It certainly looked like a stable worthy of royals. However, you couldn't help but notice no other horses resided there. Perhaps there was a second stable you missed initially, or perhaps the family living here didn’t have any horses. 

‘That’s odd,’ you mused as you secured your horse within a stall. 

The closest town was Argesh, but even that was miles away. Once again, you found yourself judging this family’s actions as rather foolish. At the very least, they ought to have invested in a horse for travel in the harsh winter months. 

No matter how you chose to look at it, the situation remained quite baffling to you. You supposed you would just have to ask the inhabitants what their reasoning was before you leaped to any more conclusions. 

You left the majority of your belongings still attached to Honey. There was no way you could carry them in all at once, and besides, even if you could, that was presuming too much. For all you knew, the family inside the castle wasn’t keen on having their company stay in the main house. You had heard some well-off families could be funny about those kinds of things.

Giving your mare a final brush, you temporarily ventured back out into the cold. You knew you should have run around to the front door, knowing for certain there was an entryway there, but it was below freezing and the longer you remained outside, the bluer your lips turned. Yes, it might be considered poor manners but in these circumstances, you would rather have a quick entrance than a proper one. 

After a few cold seconds of searching, you came to a simple door with a wrought iron frame. Hastily, you tugged it open, flinching at the loud screeching noise it’s hinges made. Whoever was inside was certain to have heard you. But you supposed that was for the best. After all, you were a guest in their home; to simply walk in without warning would be rather rude. 

“Hello?” You hazarded a cautionary greeting but was met with silence. Was anyone home? Or maybe the reason there were no horses in the one stable meant that whoever had been living here cleared out long ago.  

Without any reply, you were lost to the maze of stone hallways and lush red carpets that greeted you. The muddled architecture outside did not do the inside layout justice. The interior was even more unclear. It seemed that certain hallways ended without warning and others began out of nowhere. You assumed at the very least one or two main hallways would make themselves known, but as you ventured deeper into the bowels of the castle, the more confused you became. You spotted a lone staircase to your left and hesitantly began to climb. Voices carried farther, the higher up they were, right? 

“Hello?” You tried again. “Is anyone home?” 

You racked your brain and tried to think back to all the fellow travelers you had met while on the road. Did any of them speak of an abandoned castle? A building as showy as this one was bound to be a noteworthy landmark. You could only recall a half memory of a story a Gresit fruit vendor had told you. 

You were stopped for the evening, and enjoying some food and drink when you heard the story of their local legend. 

‘A savior,’ they had said, ‘the antithesis of Dracula himself once slept under Gresit. He was the one to thank for the end of the night horse attacks.’ 

Or so they thought. 

At the time you thought it was nothing more than a sweet story, a fairy tale complete with a happy ending. But now, as you stood small in the vast maze that was this castle, you had a creeping suspicion the story was true. 

‘Oh my god,’ you thought. ‘This was the infamous Dracula's castle!. This place must now belong to the saviors of…’

A flash of red at the corner of your vision caught your attention. Clusimly, you tripped on the last step, the blunt stair ledge landing directly at your ribs. Hissing, you sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth and pushed yourself back onto your feet. 

“H-hello? Is there someone there? Bel-Belmont?” You once again announced your presence with a question. “I apologize for using the rear entry, but I had just come from the stable.” You cautiously ventured out into the large hallway at the landing’s level. “My horse, Honey, I put her there, I hope that’s alright.”

You tried to keep your voice light and steady but inside your chest, your heart was pounding. “I received your letter.” 

“‘Letter’?” A harsh voice rasped out from beyond the shadows. “Do you think I’m as foolish to fall for that?” 

You blinked in confusion. “B-but, I brought the letter with me, it’s in my pocket.” You went to reach for it, but the stranger’s serious interruption gave you a great pause. 

“If you wish to keep living, I suggest you put your hand back down.” 

You froze. You had met hostile people before- not everyone believed in nature’s medicine. But on those occasions, you had come prepared. Here, like a fool, you rushed in blind, believing the person who resided here to be an ally. What had this person so upset? So untrusting? 

“Who are you?” You asked. “Why would you send for me only to threaten me?” 

“I did not send for you.” The man’s reply was quick and deflective. “I am no longer in the practice of accepting the aid of humans.” His words echoed around you rather annoyingly. You could get a much better read on the individual in question if he only showed himself to you. 

Who was this mysterious stranger? And what did he mean, ‘humans’? 

“Step into the light.” A momentary rush of brevity overtook your speech. “You threatened my life, the least you could do is show me your face. I have a right to at least see my would-be killer.”

You scanned the hall from left to right. Nothing. Until...

“I am Alucard Tepes,” a hot breath whispered on the back of your neck, “And I did not ask for any visitors.” 

You were momentarily seized by fear, but more powerfully then, by indignation. 

You were a kind person who only sought to help people. Whoever this person was, you were sure they had reasons for being adversarial, after all, the world was a harsh place. But still, that gave them no right to speak to you in this way. 

You waved away the heat of this stranger’s breath and walked forward. You intended to put some distance between the two of you. 

“My name,” you said displeasedly, “Is (F/N) (L/N) and I have done nothing to warrant this behavior from you. I received a letter asking for my help, and that is all I have come to do.” Despite this man’s earlier warning, you reached into your pocket and withdrew the correspondence in which a mystery individual requested your presence. You held it out in front of you, as far as your arm would go. 

“This,” you said, sounding very self-assured, “Is what I received. I wouldn’t have presumed this much otherwise. Now,” you huffed, “Would you mind explaining why someone sent for me?” 

The man, Alucard, regarded you suspiciously for a moment. Seeming to have decided you weren’t currently a threat, he snatched the letter from your hands quite rudely. 

“Damn that Belmont.” He muttered under his breath. “Now you bother to think of me… How untimely.” He looked back up to you, clearly annoyed by your presence. 

You did your best to hold your ground. You narrowed your own eyes back at him.

“It seems,” he began, “You were brought here under false pretenses. My compani… an old acquaintance of mine must have written this letter shortly after he left. The person who requested your presence is no longer here.” 

“Alright.” You furrowed your brow. “Well, did he mention when he’d return?” 

“No.” Alucard seemed more frustrated than you were. “You’d be better off looking for him elsewhere.” 

“So I’m not welcome here, then?” Alucard tilted his head at your question. 

“You don’t intend to leave? I said the person who requested your services is no longer here; therefore, he does not need you.” 

“And what about you?” 

“Me?” 

“Those look awful.” You gestured to the scars on his wrists. They seemed to extend up to his forearm, but you couldn’t see beyond the sleeves of his shirt. “If you’d like, I could try and minimize them, make the scarring less obvious.” 

This ‘Alucard’ stalked menacingly towards you. He didn't seem to appreciate your observations. In fact, he seemed to become even more agitated.  

“You can stay in the stables until the weather clears but I doubt Belmont will return in that time, providing you don’t disturb anything. But I will be watching. But I will not hesitate to kill you, should you do anything suspicious.” 

You gulped. 

“Then I’ll just avoid being suspicious,” you replied, matter-of-factly. “But under those conditions... You’ll allow me to stay?” 

Alucard waved you along. “If you want to amuse yourself, dying at the hands of a monster, I won’t stop you.”

You once again found yourself blanching at his words, but began to follow him down the hall, nonetheless. 

“So a monster is kept here then? Is it one of those night creatures?” You presumed. 

“Something of that nature,” he responded, quite dryly. 

“Well, is there anything you can do for it? Um, them?” You asked, earnestly. 

“What?” Alucard was taken aback. “You want to, what? Feed it? And take it for walks as if it’s the family dog?” 

“No, of course not,” you replied, hotly. “I mean, in terms of treatment, is there any way you can…” You paused, struggling to find the right words. “Can you save them?” 

For the third time since you met, Alucard looked at you deeply. He seemed to be remembering something from long ago and searching for it, somewhere in your eyes. 

“That,” he said after a moment’s pause, “Has yet to be seen.” 

❀    ⭒    ❀    ⭒    ❀

You discovered, by process of elimination that this was indeed, The Alucard, son, and antithesis of Dracula. It seemed so obvious once you put two and two together, you almost didn’t understand why you hadn’t seen it immediately before.

He had put you up in a stall in the stable with Honey. Well, he had been so gracious as to let you choose a stall. You did thank him for proving a straw mattress and bedroll but that seemed to be the extent of his hospitality. You didn’t mind so much. You were used to traveling and sleeping outside on the cold hard ground. Compared to frozen mud, the stone ground of the stable was a luxury. The stable was heated and shielded you from the howling winds and whipping torrents of snow outside. Truly, you couldn’t ask for more. 

Well, to be perfectly honest there was more you wanted to ask but it had absolutely nothing to do with your accommodations. You wanted to speak at length with the Alucard. You wished to ask him questions about Dracula, about the castle, about Belmont, but most intriguing of all, you wanted to ask him about his heritage. 

You knew his father was Dracula and that his mother was a human woman. But that still left so much to the imagination. How did she and Dracula meet? Why on Earth would he choose to have a child with her? Was it a consensual relationship? Or perhaps she was his prisoner? 

Briefly, you recalled hearing about the church wronging Dracula by accusing his wife of witchcraft. At first, you had assumed the church persecuted an innocent woman, completely unrelated to Dracula but had chosen to do so in his name. It wasn’t until you arrived here, that you realized the woman they burned at the stake was indeed the true wife of Dracula and most likely, the mother of Alucard. 

You felt awful. Your family often faced persecution as well. But more often than not, it resulted in your ancestors being driven from their homes. You could count the total number of times on a single hand that someone in your lineage was sentenced to death for herbology. 

You had been very close to your Mother. If she had died in that manner, you weren’t sure you would have had the strength to continue. Luckily for you, it was merely old age that claimed her in the end. When you were younger, you used to feel angry that she had chosen to have one last child so late in life, knowing full well her chance of seeing you grow to have your children was slim at best. As you grew older, however, and learned more about reproduction, you supposed thinking of when she would die was probably not something your mother considered while conceiving you. 

You shook your head, swearing away such sultry thoughts, and thought back to the problem at hand. You were physically safe from the elements in the stable, but still, you were quite lonely. And while you had no problem foraging and hunting for meals, your curiosity got the better of you: you wanted to know what Alucard had in his kitchen. After all, he was part human. You were so engrossed with the idea of a half-human’s/half-vampire's diet. As a student of herbology, you knew food was not only necessary for survival but often had impacts on mood and behavior as well. At least, that’s what human physiology told you, you had no clue if it applied to dhampirs as well. But you were determined to find out. 

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You waited well into the evening to once again knock on that back wrought iron door, him being half-vampire and all. You expected it to be bolted shut ever since you entered through it without prior permission but were pleasantly surprised to find that it was still unlocked. Gently this time, you opened it.

“Alucard!” You called. “Can you hear me?”

You did your best to retrace the steps you took the first time you entered. As you finished ascending the staircase, you expected to find him waiting to ambush you in the hall like last time. Except when you reached the top step, without falling this time, no one was in sight.

“Alucard?” You called again. “I wanted to ask you something… Are you here?”

No answer.

‘Well,’ you supposed, ‘In that case, as long as I’m not suspicious, it should be fine to walk around.’

You continued to stalk down the long hallway, admiring the paintings and armors that adored it. This place was filled with so many things, things that must have had such interesting histories! Briefly, you wondered if Alucard knew about any of this stuff.

Coming to a turn, you found yourself at another hall, this one much darker than the previous. The beautiful magic lanterns that illuminated the path you trekked were dark here. And the surrounding air felt much colder than before. Was this part of the castle not used much? Your curiosity got the better of you and you decided to investigate.

You slowly stepped down yet another stair and emerged out from under its arching molding to find yourself across from a matching staircase. Where the two sides met in the middle was a smooth platform, and in the center of it, close to the front edge, rested a grand throne. The chair was massive and tall, much taller than any human you had ever come across. A chill ran up your spine. There was only one being you could think of that would have had use for such a chair.

‘Dracula.’ You thought to yourself. ‘This must be Dracula’s throne room.’

On the platform, and beyond it to its left and right was a blood-red carpet. You tried not to think of the irony in the color choice. Instead, you opted for walking down beside the throne, to further inspect the stone carving on the divider in front of it.

It was so intricate, and very well carved. You wondered if Dracula had produced the work himself, or if he had someone else do it for him?

‘Perhaps, oh what were they called again? Oh, yes! A thrall!’

For all you know, he forced his thralls to complete this architecture. I mean yes, he was Dracula, but still, this place was huge and there was a lot of ground to cover by oneself. As you continued down the side of the divider, you found your attention transferred to the absolute mess that was this hall’s floor. Shattered glass from fallen chandeliers and chunks of tile and wood littered the scorched carpet. Something dreadful must have happened here, you could feel it.

You could feel so many memories and energies in that room, it was overwhelming. There was this strong, serious aura of purpose and destiny. Wrapped around it was this bright aura of energy and a fiery spirit. A third, equally strong energy brought a chill down your spine: it was determined, like the first, but much more distraught. Whoever those three individuals were, they all felt like it was necessary to be there, but how it took an emotional toll on each of them was a different story entirely.

You wondered if Alucard was one of those auras. He probably was, after all, it was he and this ‘Belmont’ who fought to defeat Dracula. And the third spirit seemed to be with them, so they most likely picked up a companion along the way. Their companion seemed to be the most lighthearted out of the bunch. How you wished they chose to stay here with Alucard. If anyone could use some lightheartedness right now, it was him.

However, one more thing troubled you: this battle must have taken place here was months ago! Why hadn’t all this debris been cleared away? Why were some spots of the castle so immaculate while this huge throne room and hall remained littered with rubbish? You were seeking too many answers again.

‘Speaking of questions,’ your mind drifted back to the task at hand, ‘I was supposed to be looking for Alucard.’

Oh well. You didn’t think that obvious snooping was something suspicious. It was apparent as day that you had been gawking at everything here since you arrived. There was nothing sinister or sneaky about that. You hoped Alucard would regard it the same way. After all, you were still technically under his rule as a guest in his home.

‘Home,’ you thought. ‘How sad to have to come home to this. Perhaps,’ you supposed, ‘I could help tidy the place up. Yes! That ought to cheer Alucard up a little. And then maybe,’ you hoped, ‘He might start talking to me.’

You had made up your mind. First things first, you were going to find yourself a kitchen. And second things second, you were going to brighten up this dreary place, even if you had to drag out all this broken furniture yourself. Just because Alucard wasn’t in the mood for talking to you, didn’t mean that you couldn’t talk to him. You just had to uncover a creative way to communicate. And your plan in mind looked like the best way to do it.

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The kitchen you had managed to find easily enough. And you were pleasantly surprised to find it stocked with bottles of wine, dried herbs, and grain. It appeared half-vampires, such as Alucard, did eat human food. You still had no clue as to how often he ate or how much. Or if he needed blood in addition to human sustenance. You supposed you would learn in time. At the moment, however, you were mainly focused on the rich drink. The sweet wine pooled heat in your belly and with it, you felt ready to begin to tackle the daunting mess in the throne room. 

Normally, you wouldn't have been so forward in your actions, but a part of you was growing desperate. The longer you thought it over, the longer you sensed Belmont had sent for you knowing his friend would be quite lonely by the time you arrived. It was clear to you Alucard had large emotional wounds left from the falling out between him and his father and the tragic loss of his mother. At least, those were the wounds you knew about. Then there were those two mysterious… guests staked out at the castle’s front. Alucard told you nothing about them, other than you would be wise to not end up like them. It wasn’t much to go on. 

As you mulled over all of these thoughts, you put your body to good use. You used one of the torn and bloodied drapes as a tarp and went around collecting pieces of tile and ceiling. By the time you had squared away the larger chunks, the sun was rising. Huffing, you took a moment to sit at the foot of the grand staircase. You supposed you may have been a little manic in working for so long, but you were so rapt up in thought, you didn't even notice how much time passed until the morning light caught your eye. 

It wasn’t a grand gesture by any means, but it was a start. You figured the more work you did, the less time Alucard could keep pretending you didn’t exist. The more of the castle you brightened up would force Alucard to either acknowledge your help and by extension, your residence here at his home. Or at the very least his frustration with your changing things would prompt some sort of confrontation. You had initially assumed, based on the way he reacted when you first met, he would be an aggressive sort of housemate, but instead, his presence was like encountering a ghost. 

There were moments you could feel him nearby; his aura had a distinct sorrow to it, but for the most part, you couldn’t get a solid read on him. The deep, cold, sadness emanating from the castle was practically all-consuming. If you were to get anywhere with him, if you were to truly understand him,  the first thing you needed to do was change that.

And so you did. 

Not overnight of course, but little by little, you dedicated several hours a day to tidying up a room or dusting off old collections of statues and books. On the rare occasion, amid your nesting, you’d feel a chill run up your spine. That’d be how you knew Alucard was watching you, how you knew he was close. Half of you felt incredibly satisfied to have piqued his interest, and the other half of you was downright terrified. You were like an innocent little rabbit, hoping to catch the eye of a sly fox: it was a dangerous game for you to be playing. 

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Alucard felt that danger too. 

He was so unbelievably angry. He was angry at his father for declaring war on humanity, angry at Dracula for betraying his mother’s final wish, for forcing him to fight against his kind in the way he had. He was angry at Belmont for leaving the stupid Belmont trove as if it made up for him and Sypha running off to live happily ever after only god knows where after leaving him alone to rot alongside all those other long-forgotten artifacts. 

He was beyond angry at Taka and Sumi for betraying his trust the way they had. It had been too intimate, too personal, too awful to look back on the way he was made to... If they only had threatened to kill him the way most people would, with a stake aimed at his chest after a long fight on the battlefield. No, they had chosen to hurt him in his bed, in his own home after… Just the very memory made his dhampir blood boil. Or perhaps he had willed his blood to boil to not have to feel the ache in his heart and the weight in his stomach. Those two had hurt him most of all. 

And then there was you. 

When he had finally grown comfortable with the silence, with the all-consuming loneliness of his castle and the Belmont hold, you just had to let yourself in. Yes, Alucard was angry at you, but not for the simple act of intruding, oh no. He was angry for the way he longed to be near you. He was angry over the way his mind begged to speak to you. He no longer wanted to be the cold, cruel master who you avoided like the plague, he wanted the freedom to enjoy your company and have you enjoy his in return. It was a dangerous desire, one he didn’t know how to approach. 

It felt like it had been years since he knew how to speak kindly, how to think kindly. He had chosen to forget in order to protect himself. But thanks to your unexpected arrival, Alucard wondered if the emotional walls he had put up were too high for even the most insistent of herbalists to climb over. He supposed only time would tell. 

‘Or,’ a voice in his head supplied, ‘You could push things along.’ 

Alucard stared intently at the flames raging in the fireplace of his father’s study. He had been sitting, quietly pondering what to do about your current situation. 

“How do you suggest I do that?” He spoke towards the fire. He knew it was juvenile. He knew he wasn’t talking to anyone other than himself. Still, it felt... nice to use his vocal cords after all this time. 

‘You could offer her more permanent lodging.’ 

“She hasn’t made any complaints.” 

‘True. And she won’t. She’s too polite.’ 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Alucard replied dryly. After all, he knew all too well. 

‘Yes. But I do recall a certain brother-sister duo asking you about moving the castle rather early in your relationship.’ 

“It was not a relationship,” Alucard hissed. 

‘Acquaintanceship,’ the voice acquiesced. ‘They asked for things- repeatedly. She has asked for nothing. On the contrary, she has done things for you, without being prompted.’ 

“The cleaning, yes,” Alucard sighed. “It has continued to a point where I can ignore it no longer. She’s done more than sweep up the remaining shards of glass.” 

‘Perhaps it is time you do something for her, without asking. See how she responds to such kindness.’ 

“What exactly do you have in mind?” 

‘Invite her to dinner. At the formal long dining table.’ 

“Why is where we eat important?” 

‘It shows you value her presence. Women appreciate that.’ 

“And what do you know of women?” 

‘Well, your Mother always appreciated it when your Father did it for her.’ 

Alucard paused. 

Briefly, he recalled a time before his Mother’s death, before their move to her home village of Lupu. A happy time when his family would sit around in the formal dining room, just the three of them grouped at the front of it.

His mother always did appreciate his Father’s melodramatics. She adored the way Vlad made everything fanciful and over-the-top, even when such fanfare wasn't needed. She claimed she found it rather charming. Lisa swore she never needed anything fancy, as long as she had the two of them, she would say, she was happy. 

Alucard pensively rubbed his thumb and pointer finger together. “Do you think it will work?” 

‘Sure, it’ll work. You just need to be subtle about it.’ 

‘Subtle?’ Alucard thought. ‘I can do that.’ 

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You had finally settled in for a nice nap when a strong chill ran up your spine. You jolted up into a sitting position. There in front of you stood Alucard, the Son of Dracula, the Savior, and the Prince of Wallachia. 

“I, uh,” you stammered. “The sun is up.” You pointed at the rays streaming through the stable’s doors. 

“I am only half-vampire. I can withstand sunlight.” 

“Alright then.” You thought for a moment. “What about garlic?” 

“You’ll see when you join me for dinner tonight,” Alucard answered rather stoically. 

“Dinner? You’re asking me to eat dinner with you tonight?” 

“I am not asking.” 

You crossed your arms at that. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Maybe I only eat meals with people who haven’t taken every opportunity we speak to be demeaning and rude.” 

“I have not been rude.” 

“You threaten my life when I first arrive here, then you avoid me at all costs, and now you demand I join you for dinner.” 

“I told you, I do not appreciate visitors, especially unexpected ones.”

“It’s not my shortcoming that your friend failed to mention my impending arrival. If you want my company, ask nicely!” You huffed.

Normally you would maintain your composure but there was something about this conversation that irritated you so much. You wondered if you were picking up the annoyance Alucard was feeling himself. 

Alucard rolled his eyes before sighing. 

“Fine,” he gritted out. “Would you please,” he added an emphasis on ‘please’, “Join me for dinner?” 

You smiled. “I’d love to. But I won’t have you preparing the meal all by yourself. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I did not ask for your help in cooking.”

You nodded, pulling yourself to a standing position. “And yet, I’ve offered it anyway. I was planning on hunting some hare. I saw a handful of them scurrying around yesterday.” 

“You don’t have to. It would take you ten times the effort and time than if I were to do it.” Alucard wasn’t trying to boast, it just came off that way. Sensing his words had unintended consequences, he quickly added, “If you truly wish to help, you can prepare the vegetables.”

That piqued your interest. 

“You have fresh vegetables?” 

Alucard smirked. “There’s a garden house deeper in my castle. I took the liberty of cultivating a few species before the autumn frost.”

It almost pained him to admit, but a part of him was relieved that someone other than himself would be eating the food from his garden house. He had taken to planting seeds when Sumi and Taka were…. Well, when they were staying. The surplus had been just another painful reminder of his foolishness, but now, thanks to your stomach he supposed, he would no longer have to regard his extra efforts as a mistake. 

“Could you-? I mean, if it wasn’t too much trouble, do you mind showing me this ‘garden house’ of yours?” You recited the new term carefully. “My family has studied in herbology for years, but I’ve never heard of such a place.” You were very much intrigued. 

“It’s nothing spectacular, I assure you,” Alucard promised as he gestured for you to follow. “It’s just an indoor room that mimics the elements of certain growing seasons.” 

Your jaw practically dropped. “You’re saying it can create summer indoors and it’s not spectacular? Does it make rain?”

Alucard nodded. 

You were flabbergasted. “It practically sounds like magic!” 

“Not magic, just science. Irrigation systems have existed for hundreds of years."

Alucard brought you around to a hidden entrance you hadn’t seen before. Noticing your look of curiosity, he explained, “It was built for the stable hands to be able to ready the horses at a moment’s notice.” 

“Oh, I see,” you commented. “But why haven’t I noticed it before? It’s much closer than the entrance I’ve been using.”

“There’s a glamour that normally protects this door from prying eyes. I temporarily disabled the runes that powered it.” 

“Are you going to try and tell me that’s science too?” 

Alucard paused for a moment, letting your words wash over him, before letting out a hearty chuckle. 

Inside, you were beaming. That was the first smile to grace Alucard’s face since your arrival. He looked so beautiful, with his head tossed slightly back, his eyes crinkled shut: almost like an angelic oil painting come to life. 

“That,” he said, shutting the door behind the two of you, “Was most certainly magic.” 

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It had been two weeks since you and Alucard had sat down to that formal dinner. Although it was much more lavish than anything you’d experienced, you were mostly flattered and only slightly uncomfortable. It was an odd happenstance, to go from being completely ignored to becoming the sole subject of his focus. Even so, you supposed it was better than the silent treatment, even though there were occasional moments now and then when you missed your privacy.

It wasn’t that Alucard was nosy or too forward, oh no; it wasn’t like that at all. It was so clear he was just very lonely and desperate for human interaction. Even though he still verbally denied that desire existed, you knew he was lying by how often you’d find him joining you in a study or the garden house. And while you couldn’t deny you enjoyed the attention, there was a certain desperateness to it that concerned you. You hoped Alucard’s fears, and anxieties would lessen the longer you remained, but at times you believed it was causing an adverse effect.

It was as if your familiarity caused him more fear than your alienness. You wondered if perhaps his sudden closeness was in fact part suspicion, not mere neediness. All you could conclude for certain was those two skeletons out front must have done a serious number on him. For all you knew, they played the long game and waited until Alucard’s guard was down to strike. You had met people like that on the road. You just couldn’t understand it, the effort it took, to pretend to care with such force, waiting it out to reveal such nefarious intentions.

You wished to ask some questions about the two corpses but kept those morbid curiosities to yourself. After all, you had only recently been welcomed to stay inside Alucard’s home. You didn’t want to find yourself back in the stables if you were to suddenly offend him. You sensed his soul was very raw when it came to that subject. And speaking of raw...

At the present, you were reading over some old tomes of a small study right off of the castle’s garden house. You were working on a surprise salve for Alucard’s scars, and you intended to combine your own knowledge in herbology as well as the castle’s collection in order to make it. This particular collection pertained the most knowledge relating to plants and their properties, which is why you frequented it so much.

You were illustrating the flowering buds of a Hypericum perforatum in the blank book Alucard had gifted you when he entered and took a seat on the bench across from you.

The prior pages contained illustrations on the fundamental steps of honey harvesting. Honey was one of the main ingredients of your concoction, and you figured it was as good a time as any to record your knowledge of the process. Thankfully, the castle had its own stored honey to take from, seeing as you were out of the supply you kept on your person. Plus, you had some time before the weather warmed and spring arrived, meaning you would have to get on without fresh honey for a while.

You had even gone so far as to ask Alucard if he believed it was possible to transport a hive into the garden house once the more pleasant seasons brought the local bees out of hibernation. You were immensely pleased that Alucard found your idea agreeable. You would always enjoy a swell of pride every time he complimented your knowledge or found your ideas plausible. And you weren’t the only one who beamed every time the two of you had a similar idea.

Alucard would get this little twinkle in his eye, as if he was remembering a happier time from his past. There was an awful lot of apothecary equipment and scientific instruments in the castle. Perhaps he used to practice herbology among other things prior to his mysterious heartbreak. At any rate, you were extremely pleased to have such an important aspect of your life in common.

You glanced up from your journaling to send Alucard a soft smile before returning to your work.

“Hypericum perforatum?” You heard him ask. “I do hope you don’t intend to ward me away with that.”

You chuckled at his comment.

“Yes, well,” you started, “I doubt it would be effective seeing as how you were the one to sow and harvest the castle’s Hypericum perforatum prior to my arrival here.”

“Yes,” Alucard mused, picking up a dried stem and twirling it between his fingers. “It would appear useless against me. However, up against a fully-fledged vampire, of course, who knows?”

You shook your head. You could tell from the glint in his eye and the light tone of his voice that he was being playful.

St. John’s Wort may have been rumored to have supernatural expelling properties, but you knew that was all it was. Back during the Crusades, knights would rub their blades down with the herb for good fortune and protection. From there, the rumor surrounding the name, St. John’s Wort, as well as the idea of its holy properties only grew.

The plant did possess other useful properties, however, much like most herbs. You were hoping to use the Hypericum perforatum in your salve, along with lavender as well honey. You hoped the inflammatory reducing properties of both the Hypericum perforatum and the lavender would work to reduce the bright redness around Alucard’s scars whereas the honey would help speed up any healing.

However, you weren’t sure how to broach the subject of treating Alucard’s scars, recalling how infuriated he was the first time you mentioned them. Then again, that hostility could have been because you had just trespassed into his home. Either way, you figured if there was to be any chance of Alucard accepting your gift, the salve would need to have already been prepared.

“You’ve been interested in ailments of the skin as of late.” Alucard’s observation shook you from your train of thought. “Why is that?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Just working through the body, I suppose. The skin is the first step.” You tried to joke in a manner reminiscent of Alucard’s own playfulness not moments ago. But from the looks of his unimpressed expression, your humor missed the mark.

“I told you it would not do you well to lie to me.” Alucard’s voice suddenly sounded so much louder, even though the distance between the two of you had not changed.

Either that or the new sound of your heart pounding in your ears made his words all the more menacing.

“I will give you one more chance to answer truthfully.”

Crap. You’d been had. You bit your lip and prayed that Alucard would not take offense to your actions, once he learned the true intention behind them. You took a deep breath before speaking.

“I wanted to make something for you.”

Alucard’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”

You tried again.

“I wanted to give you something, a salve to try and help reduce the prominence of your scars. I know I mentioned it when we first met but, you didn’t take so kindly to me then. It’s just you’ve been very kind to me as of late, and I appreciate all that you’ve shared with me and I wanted to be able to share something with you.”

Alucard stood up, wordlessly.

Your heart sank. “I didn't mean to upset you!” You started. “Please, forgive me!”

“Forgive?” He spat. “You don’t know the enormity of what you ask.”

“I’m sorry if I crossed the line or presumed too much,” you felt helpless. You didn’t want to go back to dead silence between you two. “I just wanted to help.”

Alucard froze. He had turned to leave but something in your voice, something about the way your body language suggested you resigned yourself to whatever fate he saw as fit, struck a deep chord within him. You weren’t trying to argue, to protest. You didn’t get angry or defensive, you just sat there, with your head held in your hands.

There had been times before, times in battle, times of anger when Alucard truly felt like a monster. He thought he had crossed that line, finally descended into that madness the night he put Sumi and Taka’s bodies out on stakes. He had told himself it was over; the battle inside him was won by the beast, and from that moment on, he would have no regrets or qualms about it. He was a dhampir, the son of Dracula; that was the horribly lonely fate he resigned himself to. That was… Until he heard your apology and glanced back to see your small, vulnerable form, ready for whatever consequences your surprise aid had unleashed. It reminded him, you reminded him of his mother.

His mother, who just wanted more than anything to help people; his mother who even with her dying breath, begged for her murderers’ forgiveness. His Mother was a saint, and the people persecuted her for it. And there you were, much like her, simply trying to help, and suffering for it.

He was the one making you suffer for it.

Yes, there had been moments of absolute rage and madness within Alucard, but until that moment he had never felt as much as a monster as he did looking down at you.

‘What have I done?’ Alucard’s hands began to tremble.

His own mother’s final wish was for him to be kind to humans, it was the reason he fought his Father’s war; it was the reason he staked his own Father, because of her last wishes. He had sworn to uphold his promise to her, to get along with humans, to be better than his father was. And yet, in just a few months, as the result of a mere two people’s transgressions, he had allowed a cold wall of disgust to build between him and humanity, solidifying the distance between his vampire half and his very own humanity. How could he have allowed it to get this far?

You were awaiting shouting, or a blow, some sort of violent outburst on Alucard’s behalf. You sat still, hoping he’d be quick about it, hoping you could take whatever anger he dealt and start again in repairing the relationship between you two. You never intended to offend him; you just wanted to help. You waited, the silence overwhelming you like how a storm’s wave overtook a ship.

And then… amidst the silence, you found yourself listening to the sound of someone sobbing. You were embarrassed until you reached up to your eyes and found them dry. So if you weren’t crying, that left...

“Alucard?” You straightened up to ask, absolutely unprepared for the sight that awaited you.

You had always thought Alucard was beautiful, angelic almost. There was this air of royalty around him; he always held his head so high, always seemed so sure. He looked the complete opposite now.

Before you, Alucard’s form was doubled in half, his lovely golden locks obscuring his face from your vision but you could tell from the shakes that wracked his body that the sobs were coming from him.

“Oh, Alucard,” you quietly rose from your seat and approached him slowly. You didn’t want to startle him. “I’m so sorry, for whatever happened to you. You didn’t deserve it,” you said, kneeling down to be on par with his eye level.

“How could you possibly know that? You barely know me. I’m a monster.”

You reached out to place a supportive hand on Alucard’s shoulder. “You’re the savior of Wallachia, and you’ve welcomed me into your home. You’re smart and proud. But I know enough to tell when someone’s been hurt, Alucard. You’re not a bad person for doing what you had to in order to survive.”

He turned to look at you. “So much has happened, so quickly. I’m not used to feeling…” He sighed. “I suppose I don’t have much practice when it comes to these kinds of things. I can recite any one of these books in several languages. I was raised by a Doctor and a polymath. I am knowledgeable in most sciences, but when it comes to emotions… I don’t suppose you have a remedy for that?”

You smiled, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I don’t have anything instant or magical, but I think I have the next best thing.” You straightened yourself up to a standing position, pulling Alucard up with you.

“Oh?” Alucard allowed you to brush some of his hair back behind his ear. “And what’s that?”

“A good hot cup of herbal tea.”

Alucard shut his eyes, momentarily, taking in your suggestion. "I think," he started, "I think I'd like that."

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A/N: @mightyarsh Again, sorry for months-long delay, but I’m back!

And @ the rest of yall.... once again, please consider donating to my Kofi, if you enjoy my work and want to see more. 

[sexedtheories]

how do you think otis and maeve will reunite next season? and what do you hope for?

Well, knowing how this show has handled follow-ups to previous seasons, there likely will not be too much stock placed on focusing on direct & immediate plot follow-up in the S4 premiere from the previous season (apart from the finale and even that can be hit-or-miss).

I think we'll likely begin S4 with the audience being clued into the amount of time that has passed for all of the characters since the finale, along with Maeve & Otis' new long distance dynamic + how busy both are, along with the struggles associated with missing your "people" and trying to just find the time and energy to connect with each other. Creator Laurie Nunn mentioned in a podcast with The Hollywood Reporter following S3 airing that Maeve & Otis "have some distance they need to work through" in a S4. Being aware of that tidbit, I expect it will take at least a couple of episodes to wrap up Maeve's time in America, before she returns home (my hope is that she returns in Episode 3, because traditionally in Sex Ed, the third episode tends to feature a key part in Maeve's seasonal journey & especially as it relates to her dynamic with Otis).

As far as *how* they will reunite, it's really anyone's guess. The show could explore the romanticized-ideal-goes-sideways trope of Otis and Maeve having high expectations about seeing each other again or at least a "plan" because that feels very Otis-like (such as knowing exactly when she's supposed to arrive back and wanting to be at the airport hours early to greet her, or something) which all likely unravels when her flight gets delayed or she unintentionally misses it. The show could have Maeve return early, surprising Otis (perhaps for his birthday?). It's tricky, because as much as I want Maeve to get the full experience out of her America time, I really don't want to see her onscreen there away from all of her friends and family for too long, considering how short Sex Ed's seasons are with only 8 episodes and that this could be a final season of the show!

I feel that this season should really be dedicated to the *FUN* of what it means to embrace the end of your early education and allow all of the characters to interact versus having reasons for them to be apart. Seeing as this show is highly influenced by Americanized teen film and television - The "era of Graduation" onscreen always allows for bombastic events and situations - Final Exams or Projects, Prom, End-of-Year Lock-ins or Parties, Yearbook, Graduation Ceremony, Saying Goodbye/Moving Out/Leaving, etc.

I also think that the show has been leading up all this time to Maeve and Otis trying & wanting to be in a relationship but having missed timing. So, exploring them trying to have a relationship with a limited window of time looming, could be interesting (being that they'll both be leaving for whatever's next for them after Secondary School in a few months once Maeve returns home). Would the fact that they know they're going to be moving on soon, cause them to want to abstain from even trying to get together once Maeve is home, because it will hurt all the more to let each other go, if they're that much closer in the end? Will they still (inevitably) get together anyway? It seems to me that the latter will be the case.

Personally, I think it's important that the show give Maeve and Otis a chance to explore a bit of a relationship dynamic together, even if just from Episode 3 until the end of the Season as it would be so fun to see them interact as a couple onscreen, as much as it would be to see them as a unit around their friends and family. The show has yet to have Maeve and Jean meet in-person and I feel that will likely happen this next season, presumably for a "meet the parents" type dinner or maybe to plan something for Otis' birthday or end of year celebration -- Either way, I think a Maeve and Jean SEASONAL dynamic could be AMAZING and I am very much keeping my fingers crossed for several scenes with them in S4 (or at least more than she had with Ruby in S2 & S3). *Especially with Jean being a published writer and Maeve being an aspiring writer I mean a mentor relationship for that alone would be incredible and also be so fun to watch Otis initially worry but embrace.

I would also love to see Maeve help Otis navigate how to be a good older sibling to Joy, seeing as how she has "been through it" with Elsie. Not only does Maeve have the whole child rearing/sibling responsibility thing down, but she also will be a great comfort to him when it comes out that Joy is actually his half sister (which to him he will likely come to embrace means nothing different, just as Maeve did in S2). Additionally, selfishly I also have a deep headcanon for Maeve and Otis to offer to babysit their siblings together for an evening and how chaotic and sweet that would likely turn out to be.

And then lastly of course, I think the whole physical side of the Maeve and Otis' dynamic will be more naturally explored because neither of them have ever been in a mutually exclusive, committed and deeply loving relationship/connection - This isn't to say that they didn't care for previous partners, but rather to explore how their dynamic with each other is much more intense and personal than things they've felt with others before each other. I can honestly see it being something that will also allow audiences to see Maeve in a much more vulnerable way, when we're so used to her being a strong and confident feminist - especially in the way she interacts with guys - but I could see the show painting them on a more equal level (at least in vulnerability) while exploring their relationship where both are equally as nervous and simultaneously excited about everything happening. I just think the opportunity for all of it has the potential to be very sincere and sweet and allow us to see a new side of each of the characters, together (that they've been fighting).

Fingers crossed it's all that *good* drama together this season! 🤞🤞

[justaniche]

Hey! I’m dying for more Daxton. I seriously can’t wait for season 2. Can you write something about Nalini realizing Paxton is good for Devi? Like he takes care of her/protects her and helps her deal with her trauma

Thanks!!

Hi!

omg let me say first, anon, thank you for this ask. youre the first person to take me up on my offer to write stuff for you so thank you again.

A little bit about this writing piece before I actually show it to you, there was a point when I was writing it when I wasn’t sure if it was going to reach 1K words but there was a point where the words just start to flow and I can proudly say it is 2.1K and that is not a lot but based on what I thought it was going to end up being it has come along way. and this is one of my first-ish never have I ever work of writing. I think it’s the first I’ve written entirely off the top of my head. My other ones are either not posted or it’s my work inspired by the episodes and its just everything through Paxton‘s point of view so it’s a bit different.

this is getting sort of long so anyway, without further ado. here it is. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think and if you like it please feel free to send me another!

Nalini had just about had it. The day’s raging dumpster fire began with traffic that resulted in her being late to work. If that wasn’t bad enough, a patient she saw a couple days ago came back complaining that her treatment caused a breakout. After a follow-up, she discovered the patient hadn’t changed any of their habits despite her advice! So was it really the treatment, or the fact that they don’t wash their face? All that suffices to say when Nalini got home she was already on a very short fuse. Kamala was out for school and let her family know she wouldn’t be home for dinner so it was known by both Devi and Nalini that they would be cooking without her today. Nalini gave Devi specific instructions so that, regardless of how late her day ran, they could have dinner at a reasonable time. Devi did not follow those instructions. Nalini came home to the door unlocked, closed but unlocked, the house a mess, and Devi’s part of dinner not made. No matter how many breaths she took, Nalini was mad. No, mad didn’t quite cover it. She silently walked up the stairs, hell-bent on seeing what caused this disaster, and if she didn’t like the reason she planned to riff for the rest of the night. But approaching Devi’s door she found it ajar. She peeked inside, and that's where she found them.

After winning his swim meet, Paxton was on top of the world. The school day had been what it tended to be, light. Filled with class and hanging with his friends in the hotpocket. But that was hours ago. It was early evening when he saw her, Devi Vishwakumar, they had sort of become friends over recent weeks but given the up and down nature of their relationship, Paxton was always very aware of her. Devi had a way of grabbing Paxton’s attention. He was always trying to figure her out. Of course she made a hell of a first impression, first couple of impressions actually. Devi was sorely different from anyone else in his circle and Paxton wasn’t yet sure how he felt about the sudden invasion. He pretended he didn’t but after unintentionally watching her Paxton began to notice Devi’s change in mood sometimes. Like right now, from where Paxton was he saw the set of her shoulders. The tension was apparent as Devi stalked across the school grounds. Confusion flooded Paxton’s mind and before another thought could register, he was jogging towards her.

“ Hey, Vishwakumar, wait up! ” He called towards her but she didn’t stop

Devi cast a look over her shoulder, her voice was muffled when she spoke, “Uh, Hi Paxton, I can’t talk.” her voice cracks, “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Paxton slows down for a second as he takes in the situation, Devi speeds up.

“Are you okay?”

Devi breaks into a dead sprint and Paxton doesn’t think, he just follows.

Devi was doing okay. Today was harder than most for a reason she couldn’t name but Devi was making it through. That was until last period art class. The teacher gave a simple assignment, and that was to paint your happiest memory. Immediately when the words left his mouth, a memory came flooding into Devi's mind like a tidal wave.

Devi was 8 when her father convinced her mother that going to a Californian beach as a family would be an adventure. Devi barely remembers the build-up, it was a haze of packing sandwiches and equipment. Leaving the house, only to discover something had been forgotten. A car ride that seemed to stretch into forever. But the beach was magnificent. At least it was in Devi’s memory. It was a gloomy day, the threat of rain looming, so the beach’s visitors were far and few in between. Devi remembers that feeling of warm sand under her feet. She remembers those first fragile steps into the tide, only to rush back as the ocean crashed forward chasing her back to shore. She could see her mom, in the distance, setting up their makeshift camp for the day. She was more content watching her family than participating. The ocean was vast and blue and terrifying. Devi could not urge herself to take more than a few steps. Devi doesn’t know how her dad saw her distress but it was like he could read her mind. He grabbed her and lifted her high then settled Devi on his shoulders. He insisted that she was safe there, she was too high for the ocean to ever reach. He held her hand as he walked slowly but confidently further into the waves. He stopped just as the water kissed her mid-calf but it was enough. From way up here, with her father by her side, the ocean wasn’t anything to fear, it was something to marvel at.

Devi had a firm picture in her mind of her happiest memory and it was her family’s adventure at the beach. But Devi couldn’t make a move to make this image a reality. Sadness crept up on her and got a vice grip on her heart. Her vision blurred and she couldn’t breathe. How had she ever breathed before? Was it always this hard? The bell rang, signaling the end of the day but Devi was on autopilot. Eleanor and Fabiola felt miles away, whenever they’d focus in the daze of her mind, the grip on her heart tightened and dragged her back to darkness. Devi doesn’t know if she said goodbye to her best friends,

She blinked, band began

She inhaled, band was over

She stood, the sun was setting

She gazed, the stress stiffened her movements as she walked around campus. Where was she headed?

Devi was desperate for light, for clarity.

“ Hey, Vishwakumar, wait up! ” The sudden noise broke the muddle, if only for now, she was again aware of the devastation and loss weighing on her mind and on her heart.

She recognized that voice and it was getting closer, she glanced over her shoulder. Paxton, no no no, she didn’t want anyone to see this least of all her newest and most popular friend, “Uh, Hi Paxton, I can’t talk.” Why was her voice cracking? “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Devi finally knew where she wanted to go as she increased her speed.

“Are you okay?” Paxton’s question was the final straw, she couldn’t stop her tears and they fell uncontrollably past her cheeks. Paxton was going to catch up, and Devi was crumbling by the second. So Devi did the only thing she could. She ran, ignoring the echo of the beating steps behind her.

Nalini could hardly comprehend the scene playing in front of her. Devi, her only child, her entire world, looked so small folded up on the floor in front of her bed. Devi was always so strong, with a personality larger than life. She always seemed bigger than her stature, always taking up more space. Nalini's anger from the day deflates, leaving no trace it was ever there to begin with. Nalini tears her eyes away from the form of her daughter to take in the room. It was dark but the other figure inhabiting the room was clear as day. Paxton sat before Devi, his body language soft. He had one hand on the arms Devi wrapped around herself as he spoke to her gently. Paxton’s volume was soft as a whisper, any louder would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Witnessing this scene felt like a secret and the longer Nalini stood there the guiltier she felt. Devi never expressed emotions this deeply to her. Everyday problems with her friends or tests or Ben Gross, yes. But Devi never shared this.

Nalini's mind was going a million miles an hour as he crept back down the steps and began cooking dinner. She knew Devi would refuse but she needed to have something ready, just in case. When everything was mostly done, she was quiet as she moved around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the meal. Nalini knew he was trying to walk silently but she still caught Paxton as he descended the steps. Nalini kept her back to him as she called, giving Paxton an out if he needed.

“Paxton?”

“Um...yes, Hi Mrs. Vishwakumar” at the acknowledgment, Nalini felt comfortable enough to turn around.

Paxton was standing in the doorway, shuffling in obvious discomfort. What he expected her to say she didn’t know. Gods, neither did Nalini. Questions flew through her mind faster than she could catch them. She didn’t want to ask him about what happened, Nalini wanted Devi to share when, if, she was ready. Nalini realized, amongst these questions, that she didn’t know Paxton. Here was this kid, late in the evening comforting her daughter. She couldn’t even be upset that they were home alone when she recalled how broken Devi looked. All Nalini had done thus far was judge Paxton, he looked like a jock so she thought him dumb. She made these assumptions about him, that he’d peak in high school or that he was shallow or that he was a walking STI, but they were just that. Assumptions. This kid stayed with her daughter for she didn’t even know how long, she’d been cooking for close to an hour so it was at least that.

All these guesses and judgments were useless when she stood in front of him. Paxton had a rigid set to his limbs, Nalini thought it was probably from sitting in one position for so long, and he was still dressed in gym clothes. Paxton looked new in Nalini’s eyes and she regretted never wanting to know him before now. Nalini didn’t know where to begin, she wondered if he’d eaten.

“Would you like something to eat?” Nalini's silent prayer must’ve been heard because he accepted. She was being given another chance. She quickly worked around the familiar space, grabbing one of the good containers and piling more food than necessary, successfully straining the unyielding plastic. She was handing the meal over when she paused, they both had a hand on the object between them but Nalini couldn’t let go, not yet.

“Thank you, Paxton, really, I don’t know what happened and I won’t ask but I saw what you did for Devi.” Paxton had the decency to look a little shocked. He hadn’t heard anything. Paxton was too absorbed before. His mind was a broken record repeating only, Devi.

The moment shatters when the front door opened, “I’m home!” Kamala’s voice fills the silent home. With the trance broken, Nalini’s hold on the container falters and she drops her hand allowing Paxton to leave. Words were failing him so all Paxton could give was a tightlipped smile in response.

“Thanks for the dinner.” Paxton’s smile was looser now and that gave Nalini courage.

Kamala was unloaded the day around her but Nalini was focused on making this right, “You’re welcome to come by Paxton, anytime.” She could only hope Paxton knew just how much she meant those words. His smile was burdened but bright, he nodded strongly and then he was out the door.

Kamala was fixing the table for a very late dinner when she called for Devi to join, Nalini hoped she would. “Who was that? And why was he here so late?” Pure curiosity laced Kamala’s voice.

“Paxton is one of Devi’s friends. He’s a good kid.”

Those details were all she could provide before Devi came bouncing down the steps. Nalini couldn’t be sure if it was the fact of what she saw or reality but Devi’s movements looked heavier than they normally were.

“What’s up guys?” Devi’s voice feigned casualness, “Dang mom, isn’t it late for a thousand-course meal?” She questioned as she took in the lack of clear surfaces on the dinner table.

Nalini just brushed it off, indicating for everyone to take a seat. “So how was everyone’s day?”

Nalini wasn’t looking for Devi to share but this was her family. She would always want to hear how they were, plus it was tradition. As they consumed insane amounts of food they were bound to regret eating this late at night, everything felt so normal and easy. But something had shifted in Nalini today and even though it was new and she was scared to death of this person entering Devi’s life with the propensity to hurt her. Nalini can’t say she minded too much because it was Paxton. He had proven himself worthy of a chance, and Nalini wouldn’t soon forget it.

[thewhiteroseofvermilion]

Moving Forward

Hello everyone. It’s been a long time since I’ve last spoken to you all, and an even longer time since I’ve last updated this story. Over the months and years, my absence has saddened, frustrated, and even angered many of you. Despite my own valid feelings of how—to put it bluntly—I don’t owe any of you anything as this is something I do for free and in my own free time, I still recognize how it must feel for you all to see something you enjoy so much slowly lose momentum and eventually grind to a halt. Furthermore, my habit of making enthusiastic yet empty statements in between didn’t help either. 

As such, a proper and honest explanation is due, as anything less would be unkind. This will be lengthy, but please bear with me. 

For the past four years, it’s been increasingly difficult to find the time, energy, and motivation for me to properly sit down and write. Seemingly gone are the early days of this story’s life when I was able to publish a new chapter every month or so, or even every two weeks when I was at the top of my game in terms of activeness. Even though I had an immense workload due to being a double major in college, leading me to adopt the best work ethic I’ve ever had, I still led a sheltered lifestyle where I didn’t have to worry about the many looming, inevitable adult responsibilities that were ahead of me.

Those tranquil years of course came to an end when I graduated, and I soon felt immense pressure to shift my attention to finding work, living independently, and working on things that would further my career. While I received support as an aspiring writer from the majority of my family, those being my mother and sister, the both of them commented more frequently as time passed by that my “fanfiction” wasn’t something that I should be spending so much time on anymore. After all, it’s not like I could sell the work as my own, and the fact that despite fanfiction absolutely being a valid artform, it wasn’t something that the world of professional employers cared about. 

Nonetheless, when I did eventually find work as a film freelancer, I still tried to persevere and write on the side. My goal back then was to work in film in order to sustain my pursuit in writing. Film was something I went to school for, greatly enjoyed, and even saw a possible future career for myself in, but it was the writing aspect of it that I was truly after, that being primarily screenwriting. 

After two years of living at home, I felt the need to try and live independently as I outgrew my tiny room and my mom started dating a man that I didn’t particularly like. I knew it wasn’t financially smart of me to do so when my mom allowed me to live with her rent-free. But at the time I thought that it would help me to become more mature and productive, as I would have to force myself to work in order to put a roof over my head and food on the table—as opposed to living a sheltered life at home where everything was taken care of for me. Essentially, I was longing for the lifestyle I had in college, thinking that once I returned to it, I would be able to reacquire that once incredible work ethic I had. 

So, I became roommates with a friend from college and together we rented a townhouse together. Rent wasn’t terribly expensive, but it wasn’t cheap either. Regardless, I was able to make ends meet. My greatest challenge however, was to live up to my family’s spoken and unspoken expectations. On one hand, my mother was sweet and understanding, naturally giving me her full support. My father, on the other, always thought that it’d be better for me to pursue something safer and more lucrative, and to not risk being a starving artist. But the one I had to prove myself the most to was my older sister, who was wildly more successful than I was—financially and professionally. My pay compared to hers was like a drop in a bucket, and I felt both indirect and direct pressure from her to be more “professional” like her. Therefore, I threw myself into my work, which is when things slowly began to go downhill. 

As a film freelancer, my work hours usually averaged between 10-12 hours a day, and with my work taking me all over my home state of Maryland and even into neighboring Washington DC and Virginia, my commute time to and from work ranged anywhere from an additional 1-3 hours. It became incredibly common for me to wake up for work anywhere between 3-6 AM and not get home until 8-10 PM. 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, I slowly slipped into a routine where when I did have the “time” to write, I had zero energy or motivation as my work was so taxing. I reached the point where I had to drink two energy drinks with 300mg of caffeine to get myself to and from work. I saw less and less of my roommate and friends. I spent an alarming amount of money and gained weight from ordering take-out so often because I hadn’t the energy to cook for myself when I got home late from work. There would even be days when I fell into what felt like comas, sleeping up to two days straight at one point. My physical, mental, and emotional health was in serious decline. And yet I didn’t see it that way, as I had become obsessed with trying to prove to my family, my sister in particular, that I wasn’t a failure and that my pursuit of writing wasn’t a hopeless one.

During the first month of COVID-19′s outbreak last year, I finally had a much-needed vacation. This was undoubtedly the best time for me to have returned to writing—but I didn’t. At this point, so much time had passed since my last proper writing session that the few times I did try to write, I found myself completely unable to write anything. I was so out of practice and so out of touch with what I had written. This honestly frightened me, and I soon began to doubt if I could ever be able continue the story with the same quality that so many readers fell in love with. Regrettably, I fled from this revelation long enough for a full month to pass by, and I soon found myself busy with yet another distraction: unemployment. 

I was out of work for about 4.5 months, from the middle of March to the beginning of August. During this time, I had to rely on state unemployment, which earned me great scorn from my older sister. Our relationship had always been uneven since we were kids, but it was becoming increasingly toxic as of late since our college years. I felt so ashamed to tell her how much money I made in a year from my job as a film freelancer, and how I barely managed to move to a better position after four years of work. Riddled with guilt and disappointment in myself, when work became readily available again in August, I frantically threw myself back in harder than ever before. In the past where I had turned down the occasional job to give myself some time to relax or in order to make it to a social outing with friends, I now accepted every job thrown my way, only declining those that would make me double-book myself. I earned a lot of money during those months as a result, and I was so happy to finally distance myself from the stigma of being “unemployed.” However, I once again failed to see that I was yet again sliding back into the lifestyle that had been slowly poisoning me for the past two years. 

After essentially working non-stop from August to March, my body, mind, and soul soon returned right back to the brink of collapse. It wasn’t until then at my lowest point when I finally realized how I initially went from working to sustain myself in order to write, to not writing at all and only working to sustain myself to work even more. It was truly scary to see myself fall victim to a brutal cycle of unfulfilling work that could have trapped me for years to come if I hadn’t broken free first. That’s when I realized that my lifestyle was personally unsustainable, and that something had to change. 

Henceforth, I’ve made the difficult decisions to both transition out of film freelancing and to soon return home to live with my father. At the end of April, the homeowner of the townhouse my roommate and I had been living in for close to three years gave us our 30-days-notice to vacate, as they no longer wished to rent but to sell the property. As my roommate had been planning on finding a place of his own with his girlfriend for quite some time, we split amicably at the end of last month in May and I’ve since moved into a temporary apartment with a friend who has traveled back to Maryland for seasonal work. 

Regarding the change in my career, I’ve been looking into applying for writing positions for something that I’ve grown to enjoy over the past few years, which is to write reviews for media such as film, anime, and videogames. This of course is not what I truly want to do in life, but I think that because it actually involves writing, it would be both good practice in terms of practicing my writing and experience in terms of resume-building. Furthermore, a stable “9-5″ job as such would be good for me, I think, as it would introduce some desperately needed structure back into my life. Being a freelancer was definitely fun as I had the power to choose my own schedule, but it unfortunately fostered a lot of laziness and procrastination when I wasn’t completely burnt out. 

I’ve shared with you all this information, a great deal of it being very personal, in the hopes that it helps you better understand who I am as a person and what I’ve been going through these past four years. 

I understand that my word may be difficult to trust due to my history, but I sincerely wish to let you all know from the bottom of my heart that I do plan on continuing writing The White Rose of Vermilion until it’s completed. My fears and insecurities may have alienated me from that promise, but not once did I ever entertain the idea of fully dropping the story. And I promise you, I never will. It most likely will not further my career in any way, bring any revenue in, and will continue to consume a great deal of my precious free time—yet I still choose to pursue continuing it because I can’t see a future where I don’t finish it.

It is after all my most cherished project; the reason that I was able to truly find my calling as an aspiring writer, its success also ultimately being the proof to my mother that I had some skill as a budding writer, who then gave me her full blessings to pursue it as a career. But most important of all is that it’s the reason why I was able to experience first-hand one of the most important and beautiful discoveries in my entire life. That being the incredible phenomenon of how art is like a beacon—its bright light is powerful enough to reach out and inspire others to create art of their own. From Monty Oum to Nancy Phetchareune to myself, I was blessed enough to see readers create wonderful fanart to show me or tell me in a review that reading my story had inspired them to create something of their own.

I am officially leaving behind my prolonged hiatus and returning to working on The White Rose of Vermilion. While I am extremely hesitant to even estimate when the next chapter will be published, please know that I am genuinely trying to leave behind my habits of old and returning to a more consistent schedule. 

The White Rose of Vermilion will return in:

Arc II, Chapter Twenty-Seven: Stranger in the Night

[evakuality]

Hanna, episode 8

1.  I know I’ve said it before, but these scenes with Hanna and Mia are so super gay.  Part of me still really really wishes that they’d gone there - I like the Jonas/Hanna reunion in s4 well enough (if we ignore the absolute travesty of stealing time from Amira), but I’d have really loved if Mia and Hanna had been the thing instead of adding in a random extra character for no reason.  Imagine the potential....  Also, Alex is still the worst.  Like I know he’s the worst because William was the worst.  But he’s still the worst.  Gross.  His sleazy manner is so offputting.  I hate that Mia ends up falling for this.  I do hope that unlike the original, Mia doesn’t lose all of who she is herself in her season.

2.  Ugh, I forgot how irritating Kiki is.  I really really like her by the later seasons (particularly in s5) but man in these early times she was not so great.  I know Kiki thinks they’re all being punished because Leonie hates Hanna, but as I said before Amira and Mia weren’t even with Hanna at that point, so that’s not likely.  Kiki’s need for control and to be liked is really coming out in some unpleasant ways.  This whole ‘what Hanna does reflects on our crew’ is so... bleh.  With every word Kiki gets more and more toxic, and then starting in on Amira as well, and wondering why she’s the bad guy?  She’s a young kid and she has this desperation to fit in and be cool and liked etc and I get that she’s not a dreadful person at the end of the day.  But she really needs to grow up.  Particularly given that she literally pursued Alex when he’s not exactly a saint about all this sort of stuff.  One thing I do love about this bit with Amira (and she repeats it when she speaks to Matteo in s3, which is a nice bit of character continuity), is how she leans forward and speaks very forcefully to Kiki as she explains her point of view.  The camera is tight up in her face, or rather she moves into it, and it doesn’t let Kiki or the audience move away.  And the call to prayer is a lovely touch right after, reminding of the ‘Muslim gangster world’ and what that’s really like.  Kiki needs to step out of her own sphere and realise that other people have their own thoughts and feelings and things aren’t always what she thinks they are.  Poor Hanna is suffering a lot, and instead of supporting her, Kiki chooses to pile on, focusing on her own ‘pain’ at the situation.  Which, in context, is really really petty.  And then she acts like she’s the hurt party?  Grow up, child.

3.  This little scene with Jonas is so painful.  The acting here is really nice.  Jonas’s sadness and hurt is so palpable, as is Hanna’s anxiety and tension.  It’s all so awkward and painful, and the way it’s shot with Jonas always at a distance and never really looking at Hanna just makes that all the more intense.  And I mean, I know Jonas is hurting and I know it’s hard for him, but this whole bit about how Hanna has no personality of her own is so mean.  In some ways he’s right (and correct me if I’m wrong, but in the original it was Eva herself who says this bit to her Jonas - I don’t recall every detail of Eva’s season as well as I’d like so this may be wrong, but what I remember is something similar to this line as part of why she choose to end it at the end, and if so I don’t really know that I like this change; it’s better from the character herself as a realisation).  But even if he’s right, it’s a bit unfair.  He told her to go and be someone outside of him, and now he’s like ‘I don’t know you at all’ and it’s really frustrating because I still don’t feel like ‘make out’ is an accurate description of what happened, and Sam is really the one who was pushing and pushing, and yet all the blame is being set on Hanna.  He says it’s not because of that, but of course it is.

4.  I always cringe at these scenes where the Eva character gets ‘slut shamed’ and basically panics.  It’s so hard to watch them go through it, and in so many ways this is the hardest episode for them.  Hanna is at a nadir.  Yes, Mia, Sam and Amira defended her, but with the tension with Kiki that support is falling apart, and then Jonas told her to call him when she gets a personality (harsh!!), and now she has someone in the school sending her messages in period blood.  It’s all pretty shitty.  And Kiki almost word for word repeating Jonas’s accusation about knowing ‘what kind of girl’ she is.  It’s totally understandable that she wants to get away from all of this stuff.

5.  Then this shot of her at the bottom of the stairs.  Distanced and lonely, and it’s even worse than it was at the start of the show.  Then, at least she was outside and had space around her, and the colours were much happier.  Here she’s closed, in, boxed out by stairs and the walls etc and it’s this dark, gloomy colour set.  There’s a bar of light, but she’s not even in it, she’s to the side of it, like she can’t even let herself have that.  Then we cut to literally seeing her through the bars of the stairs, like she’s imprisoned, which is effectively what everyone in the school is doing to her.  I do like the change that Matteo is here in person for this ‘you shouldn’t change schools’ talk.  There’s something about the interaction that changes when they have to do it face to face.  And yes Hanna, my love.  You start getting angry that people keep trying to tell you who you are.  Matteo’s lines here really do feel more like an overt attempt at reverse psychology than Isak’s did.  Again, I assume this is because we still didn’t know about Isak at all.  Whereas Matteo still feels more cynical and calculated.  His attitudes and the way he’s approached Hanna have felt different.  It’s really interesting to consider where his head is at in this season given just how low and disconnected we see him at the start of his own.  I guess when he’s called out for it over the next little bit it does change things a bit.  Plus of course the way his own life is about to be hit.

6.  The Hanna and Leonie talk is really interesting.  Up til now, Leonie has seemed much more dominant and Hanna much more timid.  And that’s been partly the way it’s filmed - they’re sitting or Leonie is placed above Hanna.  But here, Hanna looms over Leonie, quite literally, and it’s good to see her start to stand up for herself.  Leonie’s mannerisms are the same but they aren’t having the same effect.  And that’s partly because Hanna is at her lowest ebb.  While she seemed lost and lonely at the start of the season, that’s nothing on where she is now - now, she really has nothing left to lose so she can have this conversation and look!  Direct communication actually worked!  She got the results she wanted.  Also interesting is the choice to put Leonie in white and shoot against this wall - she looks diminished and washed out even after they were put back on the same level when they sit.  Until now it’s been hard to sympathise with her.  Yes, we know she’s been hurt, but she’s been so awful with it.  But it’s so clear here just how much of a toll all this has taken on her too.  And it’s so painful to watch Hanna have to admit to the things she did that have ruined so many of her relationships.  And the business with wishing we can change things but not being able to - it’s so human (and also this scene is so incredibly well acted!) and it sucks to have to admit that we can’t do anything about what we’ve done in the past.

7.  Somehow this bit with Jule doesn’t hit the way it does in Eva’s season.  I think it’s a combination of the way they’ve chosen to portray Jule - she seems a lot more standoffish - and the fact that Matteo has been a bit sketchy the whole time, with some clear hints that he’s not all he seems to be.  Also, possibly, because we do have Skam as a reference and so we did already know where this was going.  Either way, this last part of the scene falls flat after the very emotional bits with Leonie.  

Overall, I find this episode a lot more fluid than the previous one.  But this last day’s clips must have been a whole lot when watching live.  Poor Hanna goes through the ringer on this one day.  The way this one is lit is really interesting as well.  It’s either dark shadows or it’s really bright light, almost harsh with sun etc almost washing things out.  It’s an episode of extremes, which I guess is the point.  Hanna is going through some extreme emotions here, and the surroundings do tend to reflect that.

[pinknerdpanda]

Reunited

Word Count: 3,530

Characters: Sam x Reader

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, a curse word or two...i mean, it IS me.

A/N: This is my (extremely late) entry for @atc74​’s Duets Reboot Challenge. Sorry I didn’t get it done sooner babes! Thanks for your patience! My prompt was the song “I Knew You Were Waiting” by George Michael and Aretha Franklin and I used some of the lyrics below. They are bolded. This is also the first in a long time that I have written Sam Winchester and I realized how much I missed him. This takes place between seasons 7 and 8 in a world where the awful Amelia didn’t exist. Flashback is in italics.

Beta’d by @shy-violet-soul​ and my twinny @hannahindie​ I love you dearly. Thank you for supporting me and reading my words and loving me.

gif not mine - x

Reunited

Sam Winchester knew the taste of victory; tangy and bittersweet, and somehow a bit stale. He’d fought and won so many battles he’s lost count, and even in the darkest of times, savored the flavor on his tongue like a memory. But this was not victory. This was agony.

He’d seen Dean die many times - a fact that still perplexed him after all these years. It was always the same; excruciatingly painful to watch and powerless to stop it. But even as Dean’s last breath drained from his lungs, Sam had hope. Hope that if there was something he could do - some spell or deal or alliance - Dean could come back to life again.  But Dean hadn’t died - at least not that he could prove. It was like he vanished into thin air. Nothing Sam had encountered up to that point could have prepared him for the realization that he was well and truly alone. 

Dean was gone. 

Leviathans, Dick Roman, Crowley, Cas’ betrayal; he could have handled it all and dealt with the fallout after the dust had settled as long as Dean was by his side. But he wasn’t and Sam couldn't. 

Sam felt hollow, a battered and crumbling shell of the man he’d once been. He found himself lurking in the darkness, consumed by the shadows of his old life. What the hell was he supposed to do? Go after him? All well and good if he’d had the slightest idea of where Dean had gone. Or was he supposed to continue the work his father started all those years ago? Dean or no Dean, the monsters remained. And as far as he could tell, no matter what he did - how much he sacrificed himself and his body - the monsters would always be there. So why should he try?

And so Sam stopped, allowing the numbness to overtake him instead. He was numb in a way that brought on thoughts of frigid winter evenings and toes nearly frostbitten. Numb in a way that was so much the opposite of the humid evening air that hung heavy around him. Sweat beaded against his hairline, dampened his undershirt and collected in places he’d rather not think too hard about. But the breathtaking summer heat did nothing to thaw the frozen rock inside his chest.

Long hours of aimless driving brought him to this town and when the familiarity settled on him, Sam frowned. Out of all the places in all the world how had he ended up here? There was a reason he’d planned to keep this place in the rearview mirror, but apparently his subconscious had disagreed.

Nothing had changed much in his years since high school. The same aged brick buildings loomed hauntingly around him as his feet carried him down what has once been a well-worn path. Ancient street lamps flickered helplessly above, their lights providing the bare minimum of defense against the darkness of night. 

Looking up, Sam checked his bearings as he brushed the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. If he remembered correctly - and if nothing had changed - Sam should be coming up on the shop that…

Sam’s internal monologue came to grinding halt as his eyes roamed over the figure in the window ahead of him. Surely not. It was his mind playing another in a long line of cruel jokes on him; it must be. How else could he explain the sight of her...here? 

She hadn't changed much that Sam could tell from this distance. Her hair was a little longer, but still the same shade of deep violet she had ways loved. Gauging from the fringed, lace duster, leggings, and boots, her affinity for black clothing hadn't changed either. A man approached her and Sam watched in awe as a smile bloomed on her lips; the very same one he'd fallen head over heels for long ago.

It was like the last 18 years were nothing more than a breath behind him. 

Before he realized it, Sam found his long legs had carried him closer to the shop; to her. His breath hitched and his heart jumped as he opened the door. 

Her lilting laugh sent chills down his spine, but the abrupt silence that followed made his hands shake. Her eyes nearly bulged from her skull and her dark purple lips parted on a bewildered gasp. The look shared between them seemed to linger for hours, both frozen in place as memories danced behind their eyes.

The man she’d been speaking with before cleared his throat and ducked his head. The sound shook Sam out of his haze enough to register the need to move from in front of the door so the man could pass. The bell tinkled as he exited, leaving them alone in a room thick with unspent tension.

“Sam,” she breathed. “Is that really you?”

Sam nodded, mesmerized by the way his name still sounded like velvet on her tongue. 

Hesitant steps brought her around the counter and mere feet from him. Chipped black nails dug into the skin of her palms as she clenched her fists and released. 

Sam smiled. He’d seen her face a million times in his head over their years apart, but time had slowly eroded the image he’d retained. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that his own memories had betrayed him, leaving him only a poor substitute of the exquisite beauty she was.

His heart thrumming erratically, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her before he could even process his own actions. She hummed, her own arms snaking around his waist and her face pressed against his chest. Sam’s head dropped, his nose pressed into her hair and he inhaled. 

Something inside him shifted then. Weeks spent hanging on by a thread, barely able to hold himself together enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other; pain, anger, hopelessness, exhaustion, fear - it all came crashing down on him in that moment. She held him as uncontrollable sobs shook his massive frame, her palms kneading soothing patterns against his back and soft, comforting words fell from her lips in a whisper.

Only once the tears stopped and his breathing returned to something resembling a normal cadence did he pull back. She smiled up at him with sad eyes for a moment before she untangled her fingers from the fabric of his shirt. Sam watched as she moved behind him, locking the door and flipping the “open” sign. When she finished, she grabbed his hand and he let her drag her through the shop and into the back room.

The room wasn’t large, but it fit a desk, couch, small fridge and some filing cabinets. She motioned for him to take a seat before grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge and the box of tissues from the desk. She sat next to Sam, handing him a water and placing the tissues between them.

He chuckled, the sound watery to his own ears, and thanked her.

Silence lingered, but not in an uncomfortable way. Despite having not seen each other in nearly two decades, Sam found himself at ease with her as he’d once been. He felt safe.

“What brought you to town, Sam?” 

Long fingers played along the lid of his water as Sam huffed a laugh.

“I’m, uh,” he pursed his lips, eyes trained on the bottle in his hands. “I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. I just kind of started driving and ended up here.”

She hummed and Sam chanced a look at her. Her brows were drawn in up consideration and she chewed absently on her lower lip.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she mused, not looking at him. “But of all the places you could have wound up, you sure picked a pretty crap town.”

Sam laughed, the sound much closer to sincere than it had been in weeks.

“I don’t know, y/n. It’s not so bad.” He met her gaze. “Some of my favorite memories are in this place.”

Y/n smiled as she ducked her head. 

“What about you? I thought you were gettin’ the hell outta Dodge as soon as graduation was over?” Sam’s voice held a hint of teasing in his genuinely curious words.

Sighing, y/n sat back and tipped her head toward the ceiling. Sam wondered if it was the question in general that made her uncomfortable or the fact that it reminded her of the promise he’d broken. 

“I tried. Left for a while, but you know what they say. There’s no place like home.” Rolling her head toward him, she shrugged.

“That is what they say,” Sam echoed hollowly. He was in no position to empathize, having had no real home of his own. But he tried. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be, Sam.” She laughed, sitting back up and tucking a foot under her thigh. “I’m happy, for the most part.”

Sam nodded, unsure how to respond, but needing to address the guilt weighing heavy in his mind.

“Y/n, what happened...back then...I wish...” Sam began, but she waved him off. 

“Water under the bridge.” Her smile was relaxed and warm.

“No,” Sam shook his head, his eyes scanning the carpet fibers as though his thoughts were written there. “No, you deserved so much more. I never would have stood you up at prom, if I’d had a choice. I was furious with my dad for moving us that night. I begged him to let us stay one more night, or at least call you and explain, but there was nothing I could do. My family has always been a little...uh...nomadic. We never stayed in one place for too long, but it was my senior year, and Dad said it would be different…”  Sam shoved his fingers through his dark hair roughly.

“I know, Sam.”

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Not really.”

Y/n placed a hand on his forearm, drawing his attention to her. “I’m really sorry about your brother, Sam.”

Sam froze. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Your brother? Dean?” 

Sam nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. And?”

Narrowing her gaze, y/n bit her lip, thoughtfully. “Did you happen to notice anything different about the store when you came in?”

“Am I having a stroke or something?” Sam stared at her, his face scrunched and his eyes wide. “What does the store have to do with Dean? And what does Dean have to do with prom?”

Y/n shook her head, chuckling lightly. She stood up, hand outstretched toward Sam. He looked between her offered palm and the amused expression on her lips. 

“Come on, I want to show you something.” Y/n smiled, tipping her head toward the door.

Sam took her hand and was surprised to find her actually succeeding in bringing him to his feet. He shot her a wry grin and she shrugged.

“I’m stronger than I look, Sam.” Winking at him, she pulled him back into the empty store. 

He had been so intently focused on seeing y/n that evening that he really hadn’t paid any mind to the interior. Looking around now, however, he realized how much things truly had changed.

“When my dad started this shop, it was a simple used book store.”

"Yeah, it's where we met," Sam blushed.

Glancing around, he spotted a familiar brown chair and the memory of that day came flooding back.

"It is." Y/n smiled.

Sam saw the flicker of something in her eyes and he guessed she was reliving the moment in her own head as much as he was.

The first day in a new school was never easy and Sam found himself seeking the comfort in the form of paper and ink and the musty smells of adventures waiting to be had. He’d seen the bookstore on his way to school that morning, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was just the place he was needing.

The overhead bell tinkled as he walked in. The sheer number of books crammed into every inch of the shelves lining the walls was incredible. It would take him ages just to find a book in this place, and Sam couldn’t have been more excited about the prospect. 

He quietly surveyed the shelves, trying to decide the best place to start his quest when his gaze fell on her.

She looked so serene with her nose buried in the yellowed pages of a worn paperback and legs sprawled sideways across an enormous, overstuffed brown chair. Sam recognized her from school earlier in the day; the shimmering violet hue of her hair, brilliant even in the dim lights of the store, was enough for her to stand out, but it was her eyes - wide and full of mischief and wonder - that he’d been drawn to first. 

His first instinct was to turn around and pretend he had never been there. But before he could, those same wide eyes found his and he froze.

“Hey! You’re the new guy, right?” Her inky black lips drew up in a heart-stopping smile. "I saw you at school earlier. I think we have a class together."

Clearing his throat once, and again for good measure, he introduced himself.

“My name’s Sam,” he grimaced at the way his voice cracked slightly around the single syllable of his name. “Sam Winchester.”

“Nice to meet ya, Sam! I’m y/n.” 

Y/n snapped her book closed and stood, tossing it in the now vacant seat. 

“Can I help you find something? First book’s on the house,” she winked at him.

Sam opened his mouth, intending to refuse the offer when a stocky, mustached man appeared in the doorway behind the counter. The man nodded at Sam before turning his attention to y/n, a gentle chiding expression washing over his face.

“Sweet pea, you’ve gotta quit saying that,” he tsked softly. “We can’t sell any books if you give them all away!”

Y/n’s face scrunched up in guilt, but Sam noticed the playful glint in her eyes that seemed to contradict her expression.

“Sorry, Daddy. Last time, I promise.” 

Sam stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to...I was gonna pay for…”

The man waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it, son. Y/n’s just got a big heart and I can’t exactly fault her for that,” he huffed a laugh and shook his head lovingly. “Just like her mother.”

Y/n cleared her throat and shook her head, a smile playing at her lips.

"Anyway, a few years back, before he passed, some folks came in asking about these strange texts. Dad was never one to pass up the chance to learn something new, so he researched it a bit. It took some time, but he was able to track down a copy for them.

“A week later, a husband and wife came in saying someone had told them we might be able to help them. Jump forward six months and our little used book shop had become a hunter’s library and spell apothecary. Need a hard to come-by text? Missing that one ingredient for a binding spell? Look no further.”

Sam’s jaw went slack as she spoke, his hazel eyes growing wider and wider. Looking around now, it all made sense. Tall shelves still lined the walls, but rather than tattered paperbacks and crumbling spines, the shelves held large, leather bound books, document boxes and an assortment of glass jars lined up neatly. The space above the door was littered with faint, though recognizable protection sigils and, looking closer, he found the window sills lined with salt.  Y/n gave his arm a gentle squeeze and continued.

“Imagine my surprise when I overhear a few people talking about Sam and Dean Winchester, the men the angels and demons fear,” she shrugged. “I asked around and heard all about your harrowing adventures. Starting the apocalypse, stopping the apocalypse, dying...like a lot. I kind of made it a habit to check up on you from time to time. It was strange because some days I felt just as close to you as we were in high school and others...it felt like there was this insurmountable mountain between us. Sounds kinda creepy saying it out loud, really. I can’t really explain it, but I always had this feeling that I’d see you again.”

Sam blinked, his mind desperately trying to make sense of what she’d just told him. Somehow y/n knew; about hunting, monsters, him. She knew. And at that realization Sam felt the tightness in his chest ease ever so slightly, the frost that encased his heart slowly ebbing away.

“So, all of that to say...I am really sorry about what happened to your brother.” Her brow furrowed as she met his gaze. “That Dick Roman was really aptly named, wasn’t he?”

Despite the confusion and the pain and the sheer absurdity of the whole situation, Sam laughed. Not the sad, pitiful sound he’d grown accustomed to making. No, Sam laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest and forced the dimple in his cheek to show. A small rush of warmth flooded his chest as he sucked in a breath, dabbing at the corners of his eyes.

“So you know, then? You know everything?” Sam eyed her.

“I mean obviously I don’t know everything, but thank you for assuming it’s possible that I could.” She nudged his shoulder playfully and grinned. “You flatter me, Sam Winchester.”

Sam shook his head, the gears in his brain still trying to click into place. “I can’t believe this. Any of it. I never thought I’d see you again, but now I’m here and you’re...I don’t have to make excuses or lie. You understand.” Sam frowns. “I wish I had known sooner. I have thought about you so many damn times over the years. I wanted to look you up, but I didn’t want to drag you into any of this. I wish I could go back to that day...”

Y/n stopped him.

“Listen. I don’t regret a single moment. Sure I can look back and see all those disappointments; prom, graduation. Any more, I just laugh. If any one thing had gone differently - if you’d convinced your dad to let you stay, or if you’d looked me up - I’m afraid the world would be an even darker place than it is now.”

Grabbing Sam’s hand, y/n squeezed as her eyes found his. He studied her gaze, surprised but relieved to see the mischief and wonder hadn’t waned over the years. But there was something else. Something Sam recognized, but couldn’t even begin to hope for; love.

“I believe in free will, Sam. But seeing you walk through those doors tonight? For a second it felt like we were drawn together through destiny.” 

The frozen pit behind his ribs thawed - little by little - as she spoke. All this time she was just out there, waiting until they met again. Waiting for him.

Sam cupped y/n’s face, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. Y/n’s eyelashes fluttered at his touch and she sighed, leaning into his palm. 

“Ever since Dean,” Sam paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. He closed his eyes and steeled himself before looking at her again. Her gentle gaze grounded him further and he found his voice to continue. “Ever since he disappeared, I have felt so lost. Dean was all I had left and I didn’t think I could go on without him. And then I wound up here. Finding you, knowing you understand...it’s the first time I’ve felt anywhere close to being whole.”

Y/n placed her hand over his and turned her head to kiss his palm. 

“You don’t have to be lost any more, Sam. I can help you. We can find Dean together.”

Sam’s eyes burned at her words, at the promise she was offering him. “Y/n...I can’t ask you…”

Y/n cut him off with a press of her lips against his, he felt her smile into the kiss as his body went rigid. When she moved to pull away, he stopped her, his large hand cradling the back of her head and urging her closer. He kissed her back with everything he had, pouring out every emotion he’d felt in her absence from his life. She swallowed down every fear, pain, anger and frustration that Sam offered up.

When Sam broke the kiss, gasping for air, he found her smiling back up at him. Her eyes glassy and her lipstick smudged lips beautifully kiss-swollen, she traced his bottom lip with the tip of her finger.

“You’re not asking me to do anything, Sam. I’m offering.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged, this time in relief as the final dregs of ice melted away from his heart. As though she could sense his need, y/n wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. Sam pressed a kiss against her crown before she tilted her head back to look into his eyes.

“Welcome home, Sam.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

A/N 2: I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, see this post.

Weirdos: 

@hannahindie​ @amanda-teaches​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @masksandtruths​ @princessmisery666​  @jamielea81​ @foxyjwls007​ @becs-bunker​ @super100012​ @shy-violet-soul​ @emoryhemsworth​ @impandagrl​

Hunters:

@deanwanddamons​ @iwantthedean​ @pretty-fortune​ @sgarrett49​ @defenderrosetyler​ @sandlee44​ @deanwanddamons​ @lyarr24​ @akshi8278​

[jeongyunhoed]

8 Stories, 8 Movies from the Golden Age (1930s to 1960s).

It’s the golden age and 8 men are the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. Lights, camera, action!

A tale of love and suspense, Park Seonghwa is haunted by the memory of his deceased wife, a shadow looming over the halls of his mansion. When he marries again, his new wife now comes to realize that even in death, his wife still remains. 

Daphne

Warnings: Mentions of murder, death, suicide, and illness. Might have some innuendos, might not. But I’m putting these warnings out there regardless. 

Other things to note: There are OCs. I might mention other idols (most likely NCT). 

A/N: This is the first series of 8, and broken into three parts. Tag list is open if anyone is interested. Enjoy. 

Masterlist

Part 1 

An overcast day at a resort. She managed to get away from the crowds of men in suits and women snootily drinking cups of coffee and tea, among those women being her employer, Mrs. Oh. She walked along the pathways, sketchbook and pencils tucked under her arm as she admired the perfectly manicured gardens. She had been here before, they always made it a point to come back every now and then, mostly for her employer to rub elbows with the elite. That didn’t interest her much. She preferred the simpler things and was more than content with her situation, save for her employer herself. 

From a slight distance, she could see a figure standing near the edge of the cliff. It was a man, tall and lean and fashionably dressed with jet-black hair and his hands were in the pockets of his trousers. She stopped in her place, observing what he was doing. He seemed to be looking over the cliff a little too closely, almost as if he was about to jump off. 

“No! Don’t do it!” She yelled, hurrying towards him. 

The man turned around. He was incredibly handsome yet his expression only betrayed confusion. “Excuse me?” 

She paused. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, it’s just because you were standing way too close to the edge, I thought you were about to-” 

“Jump off?” He said. “I wasn’t going to jump off. What are you doing here?”

“I was only walking by when I saw you and I-” 

“Then keep walking.”  

“Sorry,” She muttered, feeling the embarrassment sink in. He passed by her without another word. He looked troubled, and she was certain that if he wasn’t thinking of jumping off, he seemed to be thinking of something else that was just as sad, or as his expression was, troubling. She watched him get in his car and drive away. She turned to go back down the path where she came from, figuring that Mrs. Oh was probably yelling for her already, or at least sending a waiter to look for her. 

That was her life, a paid companion to an aging socialite or as what many might have bluntly described it, caregiver. Of course, she also knew Mrs. Oh would never dare use the more direct term, as it would only imply that she was getting too old and that she couldn’t keep up with her peers, both young and those of her age. 

By the time she arrived, she saw Mrs. Oh already sitting by the door, sipping coffee and helping herself with a few biscuits from the tin on the table. She sat down across from her employer. 

“I don’t think I’d want to come back here after the peak season. There’s hardly a single well-known person in this place,” Mrs. Oh frowned, putting her cup down. “This coffee’s gotten cold, waiter!” She raised her hand to try and get a server’s attention. 

“I don’t think they can hear you,” She replied. 

“Then make yourself useful, will you? What are you being paid for?” Mrs. Oh said, almost gesturing for her to get up from her seat until she stopped, her eyes lighting up like a wolf having seen its prey. “Oh my, that’s Park Seonghwa, look, he’s coming this way,” She gestured for her to look over. 

Her eyes widened slightly when she saw the same man she saw earlier by the cliff now coming towards them. Mrs. Oh knew him, and she figured it wasn’t surprising that she did, from the way he was dressed and the air about him as he approached them. “What are you looking so surprised for?” Mrs. Oh asked her, having noticed her expression. 

“Nothing, I just-I just saw him earlier on my walk,” She said quietly. 

Mrs. Oh ignored her. “Mr. Park Seonghwa! How do you do? I’m Mrs. Oh, do sit down and have some coffee,” She held her hand out to him and Seonghwa gently shook it. “You can go now, Mr. Park and I will have coffee.” 

As soon as she was about to get up, Seonghwa shook his head. “I think you’re mistaken,” He glanced at her. “Both of you should have coffee with me,” He stopped a waiter that was passing by. “Excuse me, I’d like three coffees at this table.” 

The waiter nodded and walked off, and Seonghwa sat down across from them. She felt his gaze from time to time and the more she couldn’t help but look back, the more she noticed how handsome he really was. Yet, there was also a kind look to him, a big shift from his troubled aura earlier. 

“I recognized you just as soon as you came in. So, how are you enjoying your stay here, Mr. Park? I assume you’ve been playing the tables at the nearby casino? You must be very good at baccarat,” Mrs. Oh said, her voice dripping with sweetness that it almost made her a little sick. 

Seonghwa smiled, thanking the waiter for bringing over the pot and pouring coffee for them before walking off. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten bored of those games,” He answered, taking a sip. 

“I don’t blame you one bit. If I lived in a place like the Fontaine, I would never really come here anyway,” Mrs. Oh replied with a high-pitched chuckle that she reserved when talking to someone in her social circle in public. “I heard it’s one of the biggest places in the country.” 

“Would you like some more coffee?” Seonghwa sat up, one hand already holding the pot and poised to pour. 

“Oh yes, thank you, Mr. Park,” Mrs. Oh smiled, as the man poured some in her cup. 

“And you?” Seonghwa turned to her. “Would you like some more coffee?” He asked. 

“Oh, n-no thank you, I’m fine,” She managed to say. 

“How are you enjoying this place? Or aren’t you enjoying it?” He asked, his tone was a lot softer this time. 

She felt her cheeks heat up. “It’s slightly artificial, at least to me,” She muttered, putting her cup down. 

Mrs. Oh side-eyed her. “Girls her age, spoiled, aren’t they? Anyone would give their eyes just to be able to come here.” 

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?” Seonghwa smiled from behind his cup and she couldn’t help but purse her lips to stifle a laugh. 

“Are you staying here very long? Now that we’ve found each other again, I hope we do see each other a lot here,” Mrs. Oh asked him. 

“No I’m not, I’m afraid,” He replied. “Are you?” 

“We’re staying quite a bit, yes,” Mrs. Oh replied. “Maybe she can make herself useful and help you with your bags.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of those either. I’ve always said, he who travels fast tends to travel alone, you probably haven’t heard of it, excuse me,” Seonghwa put his cup down, got up and walked off. 

The two of them exchanged looks, Mrs. Oh looking particularly taken aback by his abrupt departure. She helped her stand, handing over her cane that she had leaning by the chair. “Well, what do you make of that?” She muttered. “...Was he intending to be funny? He must not have realized-” 

She led Mrs. Oh to the elevator, glancing back every now and then in case he was still around. The doors opened. “Going up?” The elevator operator asked, and they nodded, Mrs. Oh still trying to make sense of what just happened. 

“He probably mustn’t have realized it, poor thing. He’s probably still trying to cope with his wife’s death,” Mrs. Oh said as they got in. “They said he simply adored her.” 

~ 

She went to sleep that night thinking of her unusual encounter with Seonghwa. It seemed too good to be true what happened the previous day. He told her off one moment, he was having coffee with her the next. Even with his shift in mood, she found him charming, and it wasn’t at all surprising knowing that he was once off the market. But knowing that he was once married and now a widower as Mrs. Oh had said, made her think that men like him don’t usually hang around with girls of her sort. 

Leaving Mrs. Oh to eat her lunch the next day, she brought her sketchbook and pencils to go on another walk along the path, partly hoping that she would see him again. She entered the hotel’s restaurant, making a beeline for the table that only seated one person and as she sat down, she accidentally knocked over the small vase of flowers on the table. Water spilled out and she got up, flustered and trying her hardest to clean it up before the water could flow out any further. “Oh I’m so sorry,” She apologized profusely, while a few waiters gathered around the small puddle to try and clear up. 

As she stood back up, clearing herself from the mess, she saw Seonghwa, seated at the next table. “You can leave that, you can join me here at my table,” He said to her, standing up as if to greet her and gestured to the empty seat across from him. 

“That’s-that’s very kind of you but I couldn’t-” 

“I wasn’t trying to be polite,” Seonghwa pointed out. “I should’ve already asked you to join me earlier if I knew you were that clumsy, but even if you weren’t, I’d still have invited you. Come, have lunch with me instead,” He said. “We don’t need to talk to each other if we don’t feel like it.” 

He was unlike anyone she had ever met, and it fascinated her all the more as she accepted his offer, carefully seating herself down at his table. It almost felt like she wasn’t worthy yet she couldn’t refuse his offer any more than she did the first time. “Thank you.” 

“Where’s your friend?” He asked. 

“She’s having her lunch in her room. She came down with a cold last night,” She replied. 

“I’m sorry for my rudeness yesterday,” Seonghwa said. “I don’t have much of an excuse but that I guess I’ve become a little more standoffish since I’ve been living on my own at the Fontaine,” He explained. “Is Mrs. Oh a relation to you? Or is she just a friend?”

“No, she’s my employer,” She said quietly. “I’m what you call a paid companion.” 

“I didn’t know companionship could be bought,” Seonghwa looked down at his cup of coffee. “Are you going out to sketch again?” He said. 

“Yes, yes I was,” She nodded, glancing at the thick book and the pencil case at the side of their table. 

“Where are you planning to go?” He asked. 

“I-I don’t know yet.” 

“I could drive you in my car,” Seonghwa offered. 

“That’s very kind of you, but-” 

“I insist,” Seonghwa reached over, his hand on top of hers. “Let me drive you around, you’ll get to a place you might like much faster.” 

She felt her heart pound at the contact. She was finding it hard to look him in the eye yet she could see from her peripheral vision that he was smiling. If he smiled at her any longer, she might’ve already fallen in love, and she had a feeling that she was going to. 

~ 

The drive outside the hotel and around the scenic parts of the resort was quiet between them. Even when Seonghwa was at the wheel, she couldn’t help but admire his features, and the calm look on his face as he steered, slowing down every now and then in front of spots that he felt she might like. She felt like Cinderella, being taken around by a handsome prince. Cinderella with a sketchbook in hand, she thought as they finally stopped at the spot she preferred. If anything, she’d want to sketch him instead of the view. 

She brought out her pencils and flipped her sketchbook open as she sat on the bench overlooking the view of the ocean. She noticed Seonghwa get out of the car as well, pacing back and forth at the side as the wind hit their faces. The troubled look on his face had returned, and it made her cross out the drawing she already had in front of her and turn the page over to a fresh one. 

“A perfectionist?” Seonghwa suddenly asked her, having observed her this whole time. 

“You’re not exactly a very easy subject,” She admitted. “Your expression keeps changing.”

Seonghwa looked a little surprised. “Wouldn’t it be better that you draw the view instead of me? The view out here is a lot nicer,” He said. 

She didn’t argue, and instead started sketching the waves that crashed against the rocks and the sky. She didn’t want to keep him waiting, and she paused, noticing that he was staring at the boat that was tied next to the rocks. It was making her curious as to what he was thinking and why he looked as troubled as he did, especially whenever he was looking out at the sea. 

“I went on vacation in this seaside village once,” She tried to keep up the conversation again. “I was at the souvenir shop when I saw a postcard that had a very big, very beautiful house on it,” She recalled. “I asked whose house it is and they said it’s the Fontaine.” 

“Yes, the Fontaine is beautiful, to everyone,” Seonghwa mumbled, sounding grim. “To me it’s just the place I was born in and the place I’ve lived in all my life.”

She sensed that there was something with the way he said it. She looked over at her drawing. It was of him, standing at the side, his handsome side profile prominent against the backdrop of the ocean. “Well, at least we came here when the weather is good, right? At least the weather is good here at this time of the year. The water’s warm, I could stay here all day,” She said. “It’s terrible when it rains, I heard a man drowned here last year, but I’m not really afraid of drowning, are you?” 

Seonghwa’s expression changed, from slightly troubled to even more so. “Why did you say that?” 

“I- Did I say something offensive? I didn’t mean to, Mr. Park,” She said. 

“Let’s go, I’ll take you home.” 

He passed by her again without another word, this time to go back to the car where he sat in the driver’s seat. She glanced over at him. She felt the need to apologize, yet there seemed to be no point in doing it. It made her remember what Mrs. Oh said about him. Seonghwa must still be grieving over his wife’s death. 

She returned to their suite at the hotel a little while later, still trying to process the definite shift in mood earlier. As she removed her shoes and jacket, she overheard Mrs. Oh talking to someone on the phone. 

“Yes, yes, I knew him well. I knew his wife too,” Mrs. Oh said. “She was the beautiful Daphne Yoo, you know. The most glamorous woman in this part of the world. She drowned, poor thing, while she was sailing near the Fontaine, god bless her soul.” 

It hit her. There it was, the reason why Seonghwa got upset. 

~ 

The days after that seemed like a blur to her, as they spent mornings driving around, taking the scenic routes. It was Seonghwa’s suggestion, that she spend hours in a day away from Mrs. Oh at a time, but she didn’t complain. She wouldn’t have it any other way when it came to him. He was really like a prince, mood swings and all. Every time he was near, she felt her heart pound, and her cheeks would heat up whenever his hand touched hers and it made her wonder how on Earth did she get the chance to spend time with someone as prominent as Park Seonghwa. 

“Sometimes I wish someone invented a machine that could bottle up a memory like how you do with perfume,” She mused as they looked out at the view from the car. “So whenever I wanted to revisit a memory, I’d just open it.” 

“What kind of moment would you like to keep?” Seonghwa turned to her, a small smile on his face as he turned the engine on and began to drive. 

“These-these last few days,” She said, a dreamy sigh escaping her. 

“Those bottles can sometimes hold demons that have their ways of popping out at you just when you’re desperate to forget about them,” He muttered. 

“Of course, of course,” She nodded. 

“Stop biting your nails,” He suddenly said. 

It made her sit up and put her hand down. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was,” She said quietly. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Park? Why did you ask me to come out here with you? I know you want to be kind, but why did you think of choosing me for your charity?” 

Seonghwa slowed down on the gas. “I asked you to come out with me because I wanted your company,” He said. “You’ve somehow blotted out the past for me more than all the lights in this place, but if you think I just asked you out of kindness or charity, you can get out and walk home instead,” He snapped as he stopped the car and pulled over. 

Before she knew it, hot tears were streaming down her face and she looked down, not wanting Seonghwa to see her cry. But he did, and his expression fell upon realizing what he said. “I��m-I’m sorry, I’m sorry for snapping at you like this, I didn’t mean to, it just came out,” He took the handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Wipe your eyes, blow your nose,” He murmured. 

“Thank you, Mr. Park,” She said, wiping the tears away from her face. 

“Please don’t call me Mr. Park,” He said. “Seonghwa, just Seonghwa. Sometimes my family calls me Mars.” 

The nickname made her chuckle in the midst of wiping her eyes. “That’s a cute nickname.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” He said. “Hwaseong, Seonghwa. Just call me Seonghwa, or Mars, whichever one you prefer.” 

“Okay,” She paused. “Seonghwa.” 

“But I did mean what I said, that I wanted your company, in fact I enjoy your company very much,” He admitted. “Can I ask you something this time?” He said, turning in his seat to face her. 

“Yes” She said. 

“I really want to kiss you, may I?” Seonghwa asked. 

She stopped, having wiped off what she hoped was the last tear that rolled down her face. She felt her heart soar, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering, and relief that he looked at her in that way. “Yes you may, Seonghwa.” 

He leaned in, pressing his lips on hers. 

~ 

She felt like she was on cloud nine, still in disbelief that a man like Seonghwa, Park Seonghwa, would take an interest in her. But she would later be presented with a rude awakening in the morning, when Mrs. Oh told her that they were leaving to go overseas. Just when she was going to be with Seonghwa that they had to leave. She had to tell him the news. She knocked on the door.

“Come in!” She heard him say, and she opened it, carefully stepping inside. 

Seonghwa was in his robe, his black hair slightly tousled but it only made him more handsome. “Hello” She said, wondering how she could break it to him. 

“What brings you here?” He asked, approaching her and enveloping her in an embrace. 

“I’ve come here to say goodbye, Seonghwa,” She said. “We’re leaving now.” 

Seonghwa pulled away, staring at her. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s true, we’re going now, and I’m-I was afraid I wasn’t going to see you again so I had to come here and tell you,” She said, her hands clasped in his. 

“Where is Mrs. Oh taking you to?” He asked, his voice laced with concern. 

“Overseas. New York, to be exact,” She looked down. “I know I’ll hate it. I’ll be miserable knowing I won’t get to see you.” 

Seonghwa squeezed her hand, catching a glimpse of himself at the mirror. “I’ll just finish getting ready. I won’t be long,” He said, pulling away completely and walking into the bathroom. 

“But I can’t stay much longer,” She said. 

“Can I ask you something? Which would you prefer, New York or the Fontaine?” He suddenly asked, his voice muffled from behind the slightly open bathroom door. 

She sighed. “Don’t joke about it. Mrs. Oh is waiting and I-I should probably say goodbye now.” 

“I’ll say it again,” Seonghwa peeked over. “Either you go to New York with Mrs. Oh or you come home to the Fontaine with me.” 

She stared at the sliver of his face, watching him finish brushing his teeth. “You mean you want an assistant or something?” She asked. 

“I’m asking you to marry me.” 

Her eyes widened at the sudden proposal. “Marry you?” 

Seonghwa returned, wiping his mouth with a hand towel. He approached her. “What do you think?” He looked into her eyes, as if trying to search for an answer in the way she looked at him. “Well, I guess my suggestion was a little too sudden, wasn’t it? I’m sorry for springing that onto you.” 

She shook her head. “No, no, I know what you said, it’s just, I don’t think I’m the sort of person men marry.” 

He tilted his head in slight confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, it’s just- I don’t belong in your world,” She looked down slightly, avoiding his gaze. 

“What kind of world do you think I live in?” Seonghwa took her hands in his. 

“The Fontaine, well, you know what I mean,” She admitted, squeezing his hands. She didn’t want to let go. 

“Shouldn’t I decide whether you belong in my world or not?” Seonghwa let go of one hand to tilt her chin up. “Of course, if you don’t love me, that’s something else entirely.” 

“I do love you,” She said. “I love you very much. I was crying all morning because I thought I wouldn’t be able to see you again.” 

Seonghwa smiled and cupped her face. “I’ll have to remind you of this one day, and you won’t believe me. Is it a yes?” 

“Yes,” She nodded. “I’ll marry you,” and he kissed her. 

~ 

She knew Mrs. Oh wasn’t going to take the news of her sudden engagement to Seonghwa well, at least as well as she would expect. In front of Seonghwa, she displayed the smile she knew all too well from her years working for her. It was the smile of someone who absolutely hated what was going on. 

When the two of them were alone, Mrs. Oh’s expression fell. “But of course you know why he’s marrying someone like you, don’t you?” She asked. “The empty house got on his nerves, he didn’t want to go on living on his own. Did you really think he actually loves you? He was married to Daphne Yoo, the most beautiful and the most cultured woman in this part of the world? Well goodbye, and good luck,” She turned to leave. “Mrs. Park.” 

[gondorosi]

ASOIAF v/s GoT - Part 1: The  Disdain for Vulnerable Heroes

Book to screen adaptations are tricky as it is. Adapting high fantasy is even trickier as visual artistry quite often takes precedence over plot and characterization. It’s difficult to adequately portray complex morality, hard decisions and internal agony. Characters are often simplified and pared down to only a few most visually arresting characteristics (mighty king/queen, unbeatable warrior, mysterious magic person, wise-cracking smartass etc etc etc). Plotlines are reworked to make them non-controversial, consequences are ignored and the more difficult subplots are simply done away with. Such actions are common across adaptations, and GoT is no exception. 

The distancing of the show from the books started becoming significantly observable S5 onwards. At a certain pivotal point, the obvious heroic characters began to get pigeon-holed - the noble (Jon), the badass (Arya) and the conqueror (Dany). Crucial characters like Tyrion and Bran also began to lose all trappings of individual motives to dedicate themselves to a ‘greater cause’. Characters canonically unreliable and/or unfavourable such as Jorah, Sansa and Varys get painted in a far more positive light than they deserve. 

Of course, in Martin’s world the characters are far more layered and conflicted. And thus, to stick to the massively simplified (almost bastardized) show characterizations, D&D quite happily chunked off LARGE plot points essential to the main characters, in effect neutering everything that makes ASOIAF so fascinating to begin with.

Let’s first consider the two most obvious leader-heroes of the saga. Both Jon and Dany start out handicapped and subjugated in their own way, before quickly discovering that they have innate capabilities suppressed by their respective environments. Both of them find a role they are good at and use that role to accomplish something revolutionary. Both of them disregard the dangers posed by proponents of tradition and both of them are brought down or grievously hurt by those resistant to change. However, both of them are young. Both of them struggle with self-worth, purpose and identity. They’re two deeply traumatized young heroes who keep the truths of their hearts to themselves. However, the show begins to distance them from their vulnerability somewhere around the middle of its run. There’s a deliberate choice made to move away from complex characterization and focus only on heroics - whether its raining down fire from atop a dragon, or cleaving through enemies with a sword in hand. And while this makes for arresting and unforgettable visuals, you have to wonder why two such beautifully layered characters had to lose their tender facets to continue being badass heroes. 

Dany

No two ways about it - the show has done an exemplary job of building up Daenerys Targaryen the Queen and Conqueror (Season 8 exists only in the Upside Down). Her fiery nature, her courage and her incredible journey from a prized possession to a radical force commanding the very air around her. But before she earned all her titles, she was Dany - a quiet, observant and highly intelligent child who just just wanted to go home. The house with the red door is instrumental to Dany’s psyche as a person - and never mentioning it, or alluding to it takes away something vital from Dany’s story.

That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

The red door features prominently in Dany’s thoughts, dreams and visions. To a young Dany, her name is as much a burden and a cage to her as the lack of a name is to Jon. He thirsts for the recognition and dignity of a true name, she dreams of the unfettered lightness of a life without the heavy legacy of her name.

It might sound contradictory, but for all that the show played up the power and near invincibility of the dragons, they skimmed over their ACTUAL importance to Dany’s entire Essos arc, and subsequently her identity. The show posits her as the Dragon Queen almost from the very beginning - whereas in the narrative of the books, it’s a realization she must come to after losing almost everything she’s fought for in Slaver’s Bay.

Remember who you are, Daenerys. The dragons know. Do you?

This line means much more in the context of Dany’s journey of self-realization than the show ever bothered to address. Through her entire arc Dany is struggling to place herself. She’s caught between the ‘Last Targaryen’ - the rightful ruler of Westeros set to take back the Throne stolen from her family by scheming enemies; and the Mother and Queen of the freed slaves of Slaver’s Bay who look to her to destroy a society which has progressed on the strength of broken bones of slaves. Beyond it all she is the Mother of Dragons - which brings all the boys to her yard. Dorne, fAegon, Victarion and Euron don’t give two hoots about the young girl who overturned the age old practice of slavery - they want her dragons. By the time she’s stumbling across the Dothraki Sea delirious, in pain and hallucinating, she knows not which of these three identities is who she truly is.

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings.

That’s what the show misses. The crux of Daenerys Targaryen isn’t that she HAS dragons, it’s that she IS the dragon. The issue with this interpretation in the show is that to truly take Danerys being the last dragon to it’s intended narrative conclusion, you have to admit that her journey would not, and could not end with her becoming Queen of the 7K. The show turned her magic into a political prop which is entirely incongruous with the world-building elements established by Martin. ASOIAF’s magic doesn’t exist as a plaything and a tool for those desiring power. Magic exists to combat magic. Daenerys Targaryen is a conqueror, a queen and a rescuer but she is also more. (I could go on and on about Dany as the Last Dragon but that would be derailing the intent of this post.)

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros. “It is such a long way,” she complained. “I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl.” 

This is not a Dany the show allows us to observe. The Daenerys Targaryen of the show is not allowed to be vulnerable or uncertain or crumble. She’s not allowed to question her purpose and path in the world. After all, how can the most powerful character in the show ever falter? This is where the show takes the easy way out of putting more emphasis on the visual extravaganza - dragons burning down ships and Emilia Clarke walking through flames unscathed are easy crowd pleasers. But these are also just surface level considerations of Dany’s power and importance. She isn’t who she is because she has dragons - she has her dragons because she is who she is. 

But a major point of contention is - who DOES she need to be? See, Dany has always known she’s ‘important’ - in the way political prisoners are important. In the beginning it’s only her family name which holds her value. Her gradual journey from being only symbolically important as a Targaryen, to owning her own narrative as herself is fraught with considerable internal turmoil. The identity Dany cherishes most is that of Mother. Choosing to free the slaves in Astapor and Yunkai is the first decision she takes as a player with power and resources, and this decision has NOTHING to do with her destiny as a Targaryen. You identify a hero by their choices - and it is in this moment, uninfluenced by magic, or a greater power, this young girl sees the horror in a long established custom and CHOOSES to fight it. I would anyway have been invested as Daenerys as a character - but that one action firmly placed her on a pedestal .

In spite of where her destiny may pull her she wants to retain her softer dreams, her yearning for an uncomplicated happiness. At the same time, she’s voluntarily taken on the burden of ruling in Mereen, despite the responsibility very clearly chaining her. At the end of ADWD, her fevered dreams seem to suggest that both her softness and her duty are pulling her away from her true destiny. Dany’s struggles with self revolve around choosing between her identities as the Dragon, the Mother and the Conqueror - I personally subscribe to the belief that Dany ‘finding herself’ would mean realising that her three identities are not separate, but feed into each other to create the Daenerys Targaryen she is meant to be.

The show puts the cart before the horse and ignores the reverberating impact of a piece of Old Valyria being reborn on the shores of the continent where the empire fell. Her trek through the Dothraki Sea once she escapes on Drogon’s back is such a crucial pivot point in her story - it is literally the point where the old Dany is being left behind for who she will ultimately need to become.

And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

After that, for a long time, there was only the pain, the fire within her, and the whisperings of stars.

She woke to the taste of ashes.

The show does make it clear that Dany’s ultimate destiny lies in Westeros - but the Iron Throne can hardly be it. Why will the last dragon be so singularly focused on a crumbling monarchy? Unjustly attacked and exiled and now fighting to retake their ‘rightful’ place - that’s a traditional fantasy storyline and in a purely monarchical power struggle needs neither Dany’s magic nor her dragons. The Iron Throne is such a low bar - what Daenerys attempted in Slaver’s Bay is ten times more difficult and impressive. As of this point in the books Mereen is on the brink of absolute chaos and the situation is much, much more convoluted than the show made it out to be. The political uprising of Mereen was dealt with so laughably on the show - ‘Bring dragons, Burn shit’ doesn’t solve any problems whatsoever but let’s save that for the next part.

Painting Dany’s journey back to Westeros as simply an exiled royal returning to take back what’s theirs removed the poignancy in Dany looking for home in Westeros. There’s this sense of yearning in her desperately looking for a place to belong in a country that’s little more than a fable to her. She tried SO hard to make a home with the Dothraki and to find a place as the ruler of Mereen - but if there’s one takeaway from ADWD it’s that Dany’s fate doesn’t rest in Essos. I expect WoW to be a bloody reckoning, an agonizing choice between Dany’s duty and destiny. The new world order she’s established is far too new and fragile to sustain itself. As we see from Cleon’s ascent in Astapor, evil opportunists exists everywhere, regardless of societal class. To cement her order, Dany and her inner circle need to stay in Mereen for a lengthy period of time. But Westeros is calling - she has to choose. It’s nowhere near as easy as the three Yunkish Masters being the only figureheads, the Greyjoy siblings traipsing into the pyramids with the ships she needs, and alliances falling into her lap just so that D&D don’t need to put in any effort into creating plot and can simply throw spectacular CGI at us.

My point is - you don’t need a dragon (or three) to fight Cersei Lannister and a court jester on ADHD masquerading as Euron Greyjoy (not Pilou, its obvious the dude read the books and expected great things from his character). You do however need them to fulfil the prophecy passed down generations of Targaryens, beginning from Aegon the Conqueror. You do need the last living embodiment of the magic of Old Valyria to combat the foul, unholy magic wielded by the utterly terrifying Euron Greyjoy of the books. The reason Aegon began his conquest of Westeros is beyond mere ambition - and if we go by what Martin himself revealed about his intentions, the Others ARE the final War. We had only 2 episodes in S7 to show Daenerys understanding the gravity of the Night King (godawful mission beyond the Wall and polar bear wights aside) - and then arrives the wrecking ball of S8 with its ‘Northern Independence’ and ‘my Iron Throne’.

The trouble with legendary heroes is this - they save the world for everyone else. Dany defeats all other claimants to the Throne and takes back Dragonstone, King’s Landing and the Seven Kingdoms, as Viserys wanted, and she believes her duty to be. She and Jon lead the Last Alliance against the Great Other. Maybe they win and live happily ever after. Maybe they win, but only after losing everything they hold dear. And maybe they win, and only lose part of themselves. Does that end Dany’s story? Is a Kingdom and a reign what she’s been searching for? Dany’s story only ends when she finds herself in front of that red door again. 

Jon 

It’s an infuriating irony that despite portraying him as MUCH softer than in the books, Jon’s vulnerability is either non-existent in the show, or is turned into a weakness. Where does the show ever dwell on his deep seated issues with identity, duty and survivor’s guilt? Where does the show address the raw power of his love for Arya? And why does the show think that the progression of Hardhome, being fucking murdered AND resurrected, and then Rickon’s death in front of his eyes would NOT leave a lasting mental impact?

To its’ credit, the show did clearly indicate Catelyn’s hatred for Jon. What we didn’t see, and thus don’t have a ready reference for (in the show) is how Catelyn’s treatment affected Jon. In the books though, you can clearly suss out the emotional impact of the years of Jon’s childhood.

He reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid. Ghost nuzzled at his hand. He took courage from that. He straightened, and entered the room. 

He stood in the door for a moment, afraid to speak, afraid to come closer. The window was open. Below, a wolf howled. Ghost heard and lifted his head. 

This is at Bran’s bedside when he’s still deep in a coma, with no certainty of whether he will ever wake again. Jon’s leaving for the NW, and this may very well be the last time he ever sees Bran again. Jon loves his little brother with everything he has, yet the overbearing emotion at this moment is his fear of Catelyn Stark.

Keep in mind that every POV hides something or the other from the reader. Thoughts and feelings may seem disjointed as a critical memory which aligns the two is missing. In this case, Jon is actively NOT thinking of any particular incident. Yet his fear is all pervasive. It’s an uncovered wound and it hurts him. We may not know exactly what has happened between Jon and Catelyn in the 14 years leading up to this moment, but Jon’s fear of her is very real. This almost paralyzing fear of Catelyn placed against the overbearing love he feels for Bran at this moment makes this exchange stand out for several reasons, chief amongst which is that Catelyn has left an indelible mark on Jon’s psyche. 

Robb and Bran and Rickon were his father’s sons, and he loved them still, yet Jon knew that he had never truly been one of them. Catelyn Stark had seen to that. 

By the time the moon was full again, he would be back in Winterfell with his brothers. Your half-brothers, a voice inside reminded him. And Lady Stark, who will not welcome you. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King’s Landing either. 

The fear lessens once he leaves the halls of Winterfell, and bitterness takes its place. Jon’s feelings about her are tinged with fury and resentment. He’s long past hoping for affection from her, but what still rankles and will never stop being a source of anger, is that she deliberately tried to sabotage his relationships with others who most definitely were his family. 

Jon’s thoughts make it obvious that he is painfully aware that he doesn’t belong. For an awareness this heavy to be so deeply etched into a young boy’s entire being, the message has to have been reinforced intensely over the entire duration of his life in Winterfell. That’s not compatible with the assumption that Catelyn was only cold and dismissive of him. We don’t see the instances in either Jon’s or Catelyn’s viewpoints in the books, but the inference is all but thrown at us. 

Jon’s growth as a person, a leader and a revolutionary is dependent on his time with the NW just as much as his time with the FF. The show cut out far too many important aspects of his time with the FF, but atleast that part of his journey was treated with more respect than his accomplishments as a man of the NW. (Let me not start on the absolute blasphemy to turn one of the most decisive characters in the entire saga into a dithering, uncertain, meek fool in S8.)

Unlike Dany, Jon has never been important. He has no name, no legacy to uphold, no shoes to step into. All he has are his natural abilities - his startlingly accurate powers of perception for someone so young, his capacity for taking feedback to change for the better and his razor sharp practical intelligence. The text seems to suggest that Jon was indirectly forced to downplay his abilities due to his status - besting Robb was just not done.

With her deep blue eyes and hard cold mouth, she looked a bit like Stannis. Iron, he thought, but brittle. She was looking at him the way she used to look at him at Winterfell, whenever he had bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. Who are you? that look had always seemed to say. This is not your place. Why are you here? 

It’s at the Night’s Watch that Jon first starts to become someone more than Ned Stark’s bastard - in his OWN estimation. The world will continue to see only a bastard and Ned Stark’s shame, but its here that Jon learns to accept and move beyond it. It’s in the yard of the NW training yard that Jon receives his first harsh lesson about himself - he’s lording the privilege of his castle education over boys far less fortunate than him. It’s at the NW that he has the opportunity to use his abilities. It’s here that Jon finds his calling as the champion of the misfits, the ill-begotten, the unwanted and the reviled. He becomes the de-facto trainer of the boys Alliser Thorne deems beneath his dignity. He’s the one convincing Maester Aemon of Sam’s worth as his squire. And it’s at the NW that Jon first begins forming his opinion of the wars of the south - something which he will carry till the end. 

When dead men come hunting in the night, do you think it matters who sits the Iron Throne?

The staggering impact of his experience in the NW to his character is an essay in itself. For the purposes of this post, suffice to say that without the NW Jon would never have grown to the position to have an impact on the greater story. As of ADWD, the Wall under Jon’s leadership has become somewhat of a rallying ground - hosting a King, a highborn Northern lady looking for deliverance and support, as well as the center for revitalizing the Watch, rebuilding the Wall and rekindling hope in the North.

At some point after his resurrection in the show, Jon’s portrayal starts edging over into the ‘noble, sacrificial hero’ archetype. This wouldn’t necessarily have been a BAD thing – if this ‘goodness’ and ‘nobility’ didn’t come at the expense of Jon’s overall characterization.

His ‘goodness’ comes in the form of forgiving Sansa for keeping the Vale army secret and keeping her as his closest confidant. This so-called goodness of heart is rank naivete the sharply perceptive and observant book!Jon would have been stupefied at. Jon knows to judge people by their actions – and Sansa’s actions made it obvious that she’s playing her own game and considers her brothers’ lives expendable collateral. The Jon who understood the heaviness of the mantle of leadership well enough to cultivate distance from even his closest friends in the NW would NEVER have allowed Sansa so close.

The ‘honourable’ show!Jon allows his Lords and his sister to question and challenge him openly. The ‘noble’ King Jon has to explain himself before undertaking a journey to gain a potential ally - the only possible ally against a War the North seems unwilling to believe despite the reports of the dead having been around since S1. The honest son of Ned Stark cannot lie to his House’s greatest living enemy. Lord Commander Jon would sooner have jumped off from the top of the Wall than take these decisions. He’s aware of the nature of power and authority, and that more than holding a position its important to make those around you believe you hold power. Power can do great good - but it is also fickle. 

Despite the NK and the AoTD being turned into a cosmic farce in the last season, the show did quite a good job of building up the horror, menace and sense of doom in the previous seasons. Hardhome is prime example of why the show was once the pinnacle of television – and what Jon saw there, coupled with the utter failure of his mission to evacuate all the FF would have pushed Jon to the brink of insanity anyway. From what we know of Jon, he carries the deaths of his father, Robb, Bran, Rickon and Winterfell close to him. Compound the steadily growing pressure of that loss with the fact that he loses Grenn, Pyp and Ygritte in the same night. Three of the people most important to Jon but a loss he was never given the time to process as Stannis’s army arrives the very next day. He’s still carrying this heaviness when Hardhome happens, and Jon is exactly the kind of man to blame himself for the people he was unable to evacuate. Not to mention, this is the first time he sees the Night King RAISE the dead – this is the point where the true power of the enemy is fully revealed. That was existential horror at its most visceral and not a sight a man is likely to forget, least of all a man who’s trying his best to create the only resistance.

Let’s forego the changed circumstances of Jon’s murder in the show and consider the act as is – Jon does the right thing, knows he’s doing the right thing and is betrayed and murdered for it. He’s dead and then he’s not and while he’s still struggling with resurrection, betrayal and the memories of Hardhome, Sansa arrives and he’s in the middle of the quest to retake Winterfell. It’s traumatic experience upon traumatic experience, a never-ending series of emotional turmoil with no outlet or time to grieve. This is the only reason I see Jon’s actions at the Battle of Bastards being true to his mental condition in the show – having Rickon die right in front of him when his little brother was pretty much the only reason he was able to gather the mental strength for the campaign would have unhinged him to the point of that ridiculously suicidal move.

But see that’s the last time we see any strong emotion from Jon. He seemed mentally and emotionally exhausted in the Winds of Winter episode, and that’s understandable but only at THAT point. That kind of exhaustion sets in only once you’re done with your battles and Jon’s true battle was just beginning. It’s just never acknowledged – when in truth he would barely have a handle on his temper and would be obsessed with the NK to the point of delirium. We apparently can’t have a functional main hero with his emotions all over the place, gathering the strength to do what must be done while falling apart inside. Or if we DO show him as someone struggling with himself, it’s to paint him as someone too weak to see the truth. Someone too blinded by love who should never have been in charge in the first place. 

Heroes are strong, brave, just and honourable. They are powerful and commanding and inspiring. And at the very core of it all, heroes are human. Wish the show had remembered that.