#this wonderous thing that is alive and wants to be found

[earth4angels]

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲

𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when she saw him, she was only twelve with a bag of bread crumbs for her birds in the park. she thought he was beautiful and funny, he saw the world differently and there was never a moment he didn’t show her the beauty of it , she just didn’t think just how much pain he held inside.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: character death, blood, bullying, mentions of murder, gun violence, depression, hurt & comfort. childhood friends to lovers (kinda). miscommunications.

You first met Oliver Hide on a spring day, which ended up being a gloomy day. You did not mind, you loved to take walks after school to feed the birds at the park. It was always quiet, chirping and the low sounds of the wind was all you heard so when you found a boy around your age with his knees pressed against his chest, you stopped.

To question was wrong, but you couldn’t help to wonder why was he so sad? Why was he crying? You figured it was best to leave him be, your parents taught you to never meddle into anything that didn’t concern you. This was also a stranger.

As you backtracked, the leaves announced your departure. You winced when you saw the stranger’s head snap up from the bundle of sadness to look directly at you.

You offered a small smile filled with embarrassment, “I’m sorry.”

The stranger sniffed, wiping his eyes fast before he got up. His voice groggy, raspy from the crying he had released. “Ts’ alright…”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. You shouldn’t, you really should go home and get home before dinner but you just didn’t like the way this boy’s face was filled with so much anguish. The look did not fit him.

To hell with it.

You bit your lip before you spoke, “Are you… are you okay?”

He paused from grabbing his backpack, his eyes shaking. You saw the mental battle he was going through, the way he swallowed, or how his hands began to fiddle.

You knew better than to meddle into things that did not concern you. Mentally you slapped yourself, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t-“

His hand went up to stop you, “No! No it’s okay. Thank you.”

Your eyes met his again, and for some reason your heart broke at the sight of him. His eyes were blood shot, his nose red by the constant rubbing. You felt the need to hug him, to give him your comfort bunny that helped you when you felt sad.

“Do you.. do you know what helps me?”

He sniffed, the sleeve of his sweater wet yet he cleaned his runny nose. Timidly, he shook his head so slightly you almost missed it.

“Henry. My plush bunny. My mom gave me him when I broke my arm from doing cart wheels. I cried a lot but when I held him. I felt better.”

The stranger smiled with secrets you wanted to know. “That’s nice.”

You nodded with enthusiasm, you saw the way the sadness began to leave his face. So you took steps closer to him, extending your hand out with a smile on your face. You had succeeded in making his smile look more alive.

“I’m y/n! What’s your name?”

He was taller than you, his hair was nicely combed to the side with slight curls at the tips. His eyes were very pretty and you knew then, it looked better when it was filled with happiness. His hand met yours in an warm embrace, your palm smaller and warmer than his cold, bigger hand.

“Oliver. But, you can call me Ollie,” he spoke with a smile, a genuine smile that made him blush with the longer he held your hand.

You continued to smile, matching his. With your hand in his, and the sun peeking out the clouds, you felt a friendship bloom.

At the age of 12, you befriended a broken boy, who often climbed into your window to lay in your bed and whisper why he was so afraid of being alone. You made a promise one night as both of you laid side to side, watching the glowing stars you had pasted on your ceiling.

“For as long as I am alive, I will always be your friend Ollie.”

Ollie held your hand that night and with a shaky breath he pressed a kiss on the front of your hand. “Do you promise?”

You faced him, flicking his forehead, you giggled when he whined softly, “I pinky and double promise. Crossing my heart if I die, I will never leave you Ollie. I promise.”

From then, the friendship grew. Every day was a new adventure, and having you by his side made Ollie happier. He did not think so much about the problems at home or how his parents constantly neglected him. He was just glad he had you, the most prettiest girl with a bright smile and words that filled his heart with warmth. Every day, was another reason piled in his list to why it was so easy to love you.

Ollie Hide, was in love with you. And he never knew just how much you loved him. The feelings of rejection and a possible outcome where it can ruin an already beautiful friendship was all they could think of. The feelings stayed bottled inside as though every touch and every bonding experience only intensified the feelings felt deep within.

One night, as you guys finally had a sleepover, now both in freshman year of high school — you broke a news that hurt him completely. Your father had been given the opportunity to work abroad, meaning you had to leave for an year or two. That meant, leaving Ollie who was suffering yet again in quiet.

As you broke the news to him, you watched as he began to tear up. He was never afraid to cry in front of you, and you never belittled him, he was important and he made you feel comfort more than anything in the world.

“Whe-When?” he whispered, his heart felt as it stopped beating. He wished then, that when they had done surgery on his heart they made the option of feeling anything go away. His heart began to throb in such an agonizing way, he began to breathe heavily.

You wrapped your arms around him, never letting him go. That night as you cried into each others arms, you made another promise. One that was going to haunt you forever.

“Hey doofus,” you said sadly. Your heart breaking when he sniffled yet he hummed, acknowledging you. “Promise you will never forget me.”

Ollie pulled away, his tears running his pale cheeks, “How can I?”

You placed a hand on his cheek. Perhaps both of you were too young to understand how the universe worked but you knew your heart best, and down beneath all the doubt, you knew that it will always belong to Ollie.

Ollie leaned towards your palm, his eyes watching you. At 14, both of you felt the first heartbreak. And two days later, as he watched your parents drive you away from him, he cried like never before. The one thing that held him strong, and stopped all the thoughts in his head that called him useless, unwanted, a disgrace.

Ollie Hide, began to change. He lied in every text message he sent you, every video he sent you, he lied. He told you how sophomore year was amazing, and how many friends he had. He never once told you how they mocked him, the loner boy. The daddy’s boy from a weird dad.

He never once told you how he cried every night, and when he ended up in the hospital again due to stress. Rash, who noticed the symptoms, begged his father to check him in with a therapist. Ollie was silently begging to be seen again. His light was gone, you weren’t there to hold him, to distract him with your non stop rambles how the stars had a story.

You never doubted him. You never asked questions because you trusted him. He would never lie. However, Ollie from the good of his heart did not want to burden you. So he continued to lie, even when social media came for him and made him into a joke, he filmed videos of himself with a smile on his face.

You never doubted anything. But, Ollie… was not himself anymore. The longer the days went, the more his mental health declined. Rosa was gone, and it was as if every important person kept leaving him. His father deep lost in his work to avoid the issues at home never questioned him.

On the summer before Junior year, you had come back. You ran to his house and what you saw made you stop dead in your tracks. Ollie had grown out his hair, and what was his neutral, warm colored clothes, was now all in dark. His eyes had lost the shine, the spark that you had fallen for. In his eyes, he was dead, the eyebags were visible.

“Ollie?” you whispered, unsure.

He turned around slowly, refusing to believe you were there. There you stood, in your hands held a gift for him and you were beautiful. His eyes scanned you, his heart beating fast.

“Y/n?” Ollie questioned, his steps stumbling towards you before he ran towards you where he wrapped you into his arms. You began to sob as you tighten your hands around him.

“I’ve missed you.”

You laughed as tears rolled down your cheeks, “I have missed you doofus!”

“Yo! Ollie! Come on.”

You raised your head from his chest, noticing a boy standing a couple feet away. This boy gave your heart a tug, like a piercing sharp pain gutted you. He raised all the flags in your head.

Ollie swallowed, letting you go, he slightly smiled. You knew better, this smile was fake.

“I’ve gotta go, I’ll see you later?” Ollie asked, he was walking backwards, his eyes avoided yours now. You began to question his behavior, his appearance, where was the Ollie from a year and a half go?

You only nodded, your throat constricting. He left, his steps stomping on your confused heart. Something was wrong and you did not know what it was. Yet, you knew if there was something, Ollie would tell you. He never lied to you.

The summer ended, and you hardly saw him. There was always a different excuse, but you knew. Rob was always in the picture, and whatever he did, murdered the kind, pure heart your bestfriend carried.

“I don’t know why you can’t see it Ollie!” you screamed at him one afternoon after school. You only watched Ollie as he bit into his nail, his hand rubbing his neck in anxiety.

“See what? I don’t understand…” he spoke softly, igniting the fire you held inside. You were angry over the fact your bestfriend was changing and he himself could not see it.

You sighed annoyed, and you began to laugh in disbelief, “How?! How can you not see what’s going on?! You haven’t spoken to me all summer! You barely even acknowledge me!”

Ollie bit the inner skin of his cheek, his heart breaking. He couldn’t harm you, he couldn’t make you a target. He did not want the bullying to get to you just because you were his friend. You did not deserve that. You deserved more. You were more important than his needs. He needed you. He needed to tell you, to yell how much he loved you. How every letter, every photo you guys together he kept in a box where he could go through every night before bed and wonder what could be.

He did what he knew best, avoided the situation. “You know nothing Y/n. Please go home.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, disappointed, hurt and sadness swallowing your heart, you stepped away from him.

“You promised Ollie,” you reminded him. A tear finally slipping out your socket.

He looked down, he bounced on his feet, the anxiety eating him. He never once made eye contact, knowing that if he did, he would never let go.

“I’m keeping a promise,” he muttered, “So please, leave me alone.”

He turned and walked inside, leaving you outside with your second heartbreak and occuring non stop questions. Inside, Ollie slid down towards the floor, he began to sob. He was going to protect you with all he could. That was the promise he made to himself.

You never found out about the bullying Ollie suffered, and it was a shock. But, it also didn’t help that you avoided the shadowed boy. You stuck to yourself, ears plugged in as music blasted through them.

On a cloudy day, you went to your class. Natalia, who was a friend you met through Ollie two years ago, laughed about something funny she saw on a tv show. You feigned a laugh, your eyes scanning for a certain boy. Enough was enough.

You were going to snap some sense into Ollie, whether he liked it or not, but you were not going to lose him. As you settled in class, you forgot about Ollie, immersed into the debate your classmates were going through.

You pulled out your phone and sneakily, sent a message to the one that held your heart.

I am not letting go Ollie. Meet me after school by the treehouse.

As you and Ollie built your friendship, you built new places to hang out, and that included an abandoned tree house you found one day as you walked through the woods. Ollie, being the kindest boy offered to check it out first. Since then, the treehouse was your secret hide out.

You never received a response. You knew he had gotten it though and so you hoped, this was going to change his way of acting. Class was peaceful, of course not without Jack making loud comments about the lesson that had your teacher rolling her eyes every two seconds.

As you giggled over the comment your teacher said you heard a loud bang. Loud bangings. You jumped, your classmates became silent then. You couldn’t hear anything then. Until, yelling and scared chatters hit your ears. Something was happening.

Your teacher smiled as she kept the peace, “Alright guys, it’s probably nothing, stay here. Let me check it out.”

A ping had arrived to your phone then and as you pulled your phone to check the notification, you heard the sounds of glass shattering. You turned to look at Natalia who held the same expression you held — fear. This was a shooting.

Your teacher acted fast, she moved in a way you never seen her act before. She commanded the class to move underneath the desks, away from the windows that overlooked into the classroom. She shut the windows closed and had every single one of you quiet down.

You held onto Natalia’s hand, the fear reaching your ears as you began to hear the thumps of your heart. What felt like an eternity, you begged to be given a chance to see your family again, you did not want to die and not be given a opportunity to declare how much you loved Ollie Hide. You needed to tell him.

“We can run outside!” Jack whispered, panicked that no one was coming for them. Your teacher leaned against the door, watching over you all, her eyes trembling yet she never faltered.

“You stay there Jack! All of you!”

Jack began to mutter in fear, another round of bullets was heard. You began to go into a state of panic, your brain was beginning to go into a daze. Natalia hugged you, as she whispered something you did not understand.

All you could think of was Ollie. Was he okay? Did he make it outside? Did he survive? Is he hiding? As your brain wondered. Jack and your classmates ran outside, all of them swallowed by the fear of dying if they stayed in the classroom. Your teacher shouted, her voice was ignored.

“Stay here girls, please don’t leave until someone comes to get you. Promise me?”

“Don’t go!” Natalia shouted, “You can be killed!”

Your teacher who you admired, and you found to have been the kindest to help you out when you needed it, smiled. A tear slipped her eye, “I have to try and save as much as I can — stay here okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

It was as if, promises were meant to break.

As you and Natalia hid underneath the piles of chairs and desks, you heard screams closer than usual and multiple shots. You knew better than to be hopeful. Your classmates, ones you were joking with earlier that day, some of them were never going to graduate high school. They will never be parents, or have a dream come true, they will never ever know the pain of loss, or the feeling of loving someone so hard they forget the world spins. They will never have a chance to live.

You released a shaky breath as you held onto your friend. Your brain going over a prayer. If you make it out alive you were going to punch Ollie in the face and kiss him. You will make every moment worth it.

As you say there, you heard the door open. You closed your eyes, leaning your head towards Natalia. If you were going to die, you will die recalling a memory you treasured the most.

“Ollie?” you whispered one night, your voice quiet as both of you hid under the house you built out of blankets. At a distance you heard David arguing with Rosa again.

Ollie swallowed, his breath coming out in shaky wisps.

“Yeah?”

“When we’re older, promise we will still be friends?”

Ollie smiled into the shadows of the dark, he pulled you close, his skinny hand ruffling your hair as he released a sad chuckle, “You will never get rid of me.”

When you heard nothing but the gasp of your friend, you opened your eyes. You recalled that promise, your heart breaking in tiny pieces as you faced the barrel of the gun. Your eyes met with a certain pair that never failed to make you feel flutters in your stomach.

As Ollie, your best friend, your first love, held the gun with tears in his eyes, you released the first sound since the first gun shot. A loud sob.

Ollie looked at you and then at Natalia. You were sobbing now, your hands covering your mouth as you took him in. Your funny, bright bestfriend who joked about the smallest things, and looked after everyone than himself.

The gun didn’t fit him, he wasn’t the shooter. You refused to believe that. Ollie squeezed his eyes and when he reopened them, he looked different. You did not know who he was.

“Clear?!” Rob screamed from across the hall. Ollie said nothing before he shouted back.

“Clear!”

You scrambled to reach him, Natalia held you back. Ollie looked back at you, his eyes dark, lost. He was warning you to stay back. You choked on a sob again as you watched him go, his white sneakers filled with blood. You catched a glimpse at Rob, covered in blood, who said something and left to go the opposite direction.

You refused Natalia’s hold, “I have to get him! It can’t be him Nat…”

“You’re gonna be killed if you go y/n! You can’t go.”

You cried, “I have to try, that’s my bestfriend Nat… I can’t loose him.”

Your feet moved on its own as you ran down the hall towards the staircase, your mind blocking the scattered bodies of your classmates, you refused to believe it was real. It was a dream, you kept repeating.

Your feet hurt as you ran, but you needed to save him. You needed to get to Ollie. As soon as your feet crossed the door to the staircase you heard sobbing, mutters that were in gibberish. You had found him.

“Ollie…” you whispered.

Ollie gasped as he stood up. He began to shake his head, his muttering becoming more unstable, you could not understand him. You stepped closer as he put out a hand, his other hand loosely held onto the shotgun.

“Please… Please save me.”

You cried as you stepped closer, another step closer to reaching him.

“Take it Y/n… please. I can’t…. I don’t… I’m scared. I can’t die…”

Ollie finally looked at you, his eyes filled to the brim with tears, your heart broke once again. Your bestfriend, your first love, lost in his pain.

“Give me the gun Ollie…”

As he was handing you the gun, you heard the rushed steps of feet running up the stairs. The fear you held began to boil again. Finding yourself locking eyes with Rob, who held nothing but anger in his eyes, you didn’t realize the panic Ollie’s eyes went through.

Rob wasted no time but to shoot, and you were too late to run behind the door. The bullet shot through your lower stomach. At first you felt as you fell into a large comforter, and then you saw a flash of white. What you felt next was something that left you wheezing in non stop pain, the bullet has implanted itself in you. Your life was slipping and you just felt regret.

You recalled every promise you made with Ollie. The moments you had with your parents, and your friends. The laughter you shared with them, the cries you gave even if it was over a silly thing. All these memories and emotions flew through, and as you laid on the floor, wheezing through the pain, your heart slowing down one beat at a time. Your hand reached over to Ollie’s. You couldn’t find him, just how you couldn’t find the pain he was going through.

Ollie fought with Rob, and he almost won, if it wasn’t for the rail that threw him over the staircase. He just had one thought, what could have been if only he spoke with honesty of what he was feeling.

As both of you laid in different parts, the life slipping away from your fingers. Your heart’s beated slowly together, as if it was reuniting one last time. And for a moment it did, because the moment you allowed the white cloud wrap around you, Ollie smiled as he felt the warmth of your laugh wrap around him.

The two teenagers were rushed to the hospital, Natalia cried as she ran with you both. She was not going to reveal what had happened. She couldn’t, she knew and believed Ollie was not evil but she also couldn’t hurt you.

As nurses and doctors rushed to work in bringing your hearts back to life, the teenagers that laid in different rooms felt the soul bond loosened. The nurses spoke in sadness how the hands laid loosely over the bed, as if they searched for each other.

As Rash, the doctor that bonded with Ollie more than anyone, worked on a CPR on Ollie, he watched with tears in his eyes how neither of you responded. The dead line on the screen mocking him. And finally, after minutes, the line curved slightly.

The doctors that worked with you, all screamed in relief as you also responded back to life. Rash knew, just as with how Ollie talked of you, both of you were soulmates. He knew that nothing, not even death was going to rip both of you apart.

You had gained another chance at life, and you knew you were going to make every second of it count.

Natalia who watched as one came to live, then the other, sobbed loudly. Her mother wrapped her into her arms. Natalia had decided then, she was never going to reveal Ollie as the one shooter and as another classmate that survived was alive and responding, he recalled of the horrors that happened.

He spoke of the shooters, how he saw one shoot through his friends with no remorse screaming how they deserved it, and the other, the quiet boy who shoved the extra bullets into his pockets and shot through the walls instead. His eyes blinking away the tears that fell.

As the sun peeked through the windows, a chance to recover the lost time. To fix what was broken, was edging you awake. You woke up groggy, moaning that the sun was too bright. As you rolled over you found the mop of curly hair by your side.

You got up confused, till you realized it was a dream you had. You believed in the signs, warnings, how the universe will warn you of these butterfly effects. Since you had come back to town, you noticed the changes that your best friend has been going through.

You knew then, what could happen, whether it’s death or not, be prevented. As you reached over and laid a hand on the pale cheek of your bestfriend who softly snored away, you made a new promise.

“I will guard you with my life, and I promise to show you life is worth living.”

ollie nation tag list: @hxtd @mckennah123 @cieraerickson8 @oroborosfeast

natties angels permanent list: @yohanseyebrowmole @mthrgs29

[otrtbs]

Hi I hope you're doing well 🌷

I had a question. I'm totally asking out of pure curiosity, it's not a criticism or anything of the sort.

In ahb (this masterpiece of yours) Sirius's favorite painting is Degas' Dancers.

I wanted to know if you knew the background of this painting and if making it Sirius' favorite was a deliberate choice or if you had no idea at all.

Because the Ballerinas in Opera Garnier in Paris were all really young and mostly, they were poor. The dancers were often their family's hope to crawl out of misery.

The audience was full of men.

In fact, the sad flip side was that there was a whole prostitution network behind the scene. With these young girls. Men could pay for backstage access to watch ballerinas change and sometimes rape them.

So Degas was a big customer.

That's how he painted the dancers and most of his works.

That's again how he sculpted the ballerina, her tutu was added meaning the 14 year old girl was posing nude.

Degas is also suspected of being Jack the Ripper, there are a certain number of credible leads and potential evidences.

That's why I was wondering if you knew.

Since there is this whole chapter where they insult Picasso (as they should) I found it strange that Degas being a known major p*do did not receive the same treatment.

Ps: I'm french, I don't know if I made any mistakes writing this, if I have please excuse me I tried my best 🙏

Okay hi, hello! I am doing well and I hope you are as well! You have unlocked Art Historian Thesis Nat, so I am going to put an extremely lengthy post under the cut, I'm so sorry (this is literally my area of study,,, i fear i am incapable of being brief about this)

I do want to clarify that right off the bat, I don't necessarily think many of these art historical figures are "good people". Like none of them are the best, most moral, upstanding citizens you should model your life after (but they're also dead sooooo). But I also understand that I did take some time in my fanfiction to make my hatred for Picasso very clear, and so I can also understand the confusion in not extending that same hatred towards Degas. But there are a few reasons for that, that I'll try to explain below!

The direct historical documentation of Pablo Picasso's violence towards the women in his life is vast and damning. If you want particularly good insight into his violence and abuse, then I recommend reading Marina Picasso's (Picasso's granddaughter) memoir titled: Picasso: My Grandfather. I also recommend Françoise Gilot's (romantic partner of Picasso) books, Life with Picasso and Picasso and Matisse. It is through the memories of the people who loved Picasso and who loved him in turn, that we hear of his sadistic nature that drove his lovers to suicide and we get personal letters that he wrote to Gilot in which he says things like "Dora, for me, was always a weeping woman… And it’s important, because women are suffering machines" and "For me there are only two kinds of women: goddesses and doormats." His granddaughter has this to say about him: “He submitted [women] to his animal sexuality, tamed them, bewitched them, ingested them, and crushed them onto his canvas. After he had spent many nights extracting their essence, once they were bled dry, he would dispose of them.” And Gilot says: "I am the only one to not have been sacrificed to the sacred monster(…) and is alive to tell the tale. He was a wonderful person to be with, it was like fireworks, amazingly creative, so intelligent and seductive(…) but he was also very cruel, sadistic and ruthless with others and with himself (…) It was the greatest love of my life, but you have to protect yourself (…) The others did not, they clung to the powerful minotaur and paid a very high price."

Why this matters: The evidence for Degas being so virulently misogynistic and cruel towards women is extremely less substantial and more speculative in nature.

Degas being Jack the Ripper. Degas being Jack the Ripper started off as a tiktok theory posed in early 2024, (though you can find an article as early as 2004 written by The Guardian's art critic here) and while fun to think about and speculate, it isn't true. August and September and November of 1888 is when the Jack the Ripper crimes were committed in London and Degas was in the South of France at that time receiving medical treatment because he was in extremely poor health. (Which you can find in The Letters of Edgar Degas edited by Theodore Reff (I'm sure there's. free PDF version out there somewhere)). Also, self-admittedly speculative, but Degas didn't visit the East-End of London when he did make his excursions to London because he was classist 😭. So, it would be odd for him to know the ins and outs of the streets where the murders took place. And also he had failing eyesight starting at 36, so the odds of him being Jack the Ripper are extremely slim.

The Ballerinas Yes, while it is true that the ballerina's were often subject to horrific conditions and were prostitutes for the "wealthy" patrons of the opera house, this does not mean that Degas partook in that. in fact, most historical documentation surmises he didn't. Degas considered himself a "realist" painter rather than an impressionist painter, wishing to document "real life" in all of its ugliness, beauty and unstylized truth. Therefore his primary concern was documenting the opera house and ballet in all of the moments, not just when the girls were dancing on stage. And in many of his paintings, Degas captures the opera patronsn in his ballerina paintings as lurkers behind the stage curtains as sinister black shadows, or as men predatorily watching in nice suits (e.g. Ballet, 1876 and The Rehearsal of the Ballet Onstage (1874)). But Degas himself, was NEVER a ballerina patron, he is even quoted as saying "People call me the painter of dancing girls. It has never occurred to them that my chief interest in dancers lies in rendering movement...". (now this is not because Degas was morally outraged at what was happening to the ballerina's, but because he viewed the men abusing the girls as committing a sin against God by sleeping with prostitutes). But while Degas had access to backstage, he was never a customer. And in fact, Degas is a notorious, well-documented celibate. This is because Degas believed sleeping with women would make him lose his special painting ability. No lie. Here's a direct quote from Vincent Van Gogh in his a letter to his brother Theo about the artist: "Degas lives like a little lawyer and does not like women, for he knows that if liked them and went to bed with them, he would become intellectually diseased and would no longer be able to paint." Degas was also known to reject ballerina's advances as well (again, fearing women would take away his magic painting power).

Feelings towards women By all accounts, Degas friends describe him as being reclusive towards women to being jovial with them, but always kind to them outside of a working environment. He even developed friendships with his fellow contemporary women painters. In a working environment, Degas was obsessed with perfection, demanding ballerinas contort their bodies in painful positions, and making them hold those positions for hours at a time. By all accounts, this was not because he hated them, but was obsessed with capturing their movements, the limitations of the human body, and he demanded perfection from himself. (x x x) (i.e. his obsession for his work and drive for perfection as a painter made him demanding and harsh towards his subjects, not his pure hatred of women).

Conclusions: So by many accounts, Degas was not particularly fond of women, and had little regard for his dancers. But the claims that he must have slept with the ballerina's and been a patron/customer "because that's what all men did back then" are not backed by any evidence. only evidence to the contrary. I went in on Picasso because those that were close to him have written first-hand accounts of his monstrocity. This is not the case with Degas. So, while I didn't tear him down like I did Picasso, I wasn't lauding him as a saint either. I highly recommend reading the article called Degas's Misogyny by Norma Broude which details the ways in which modern times have run away with this idea of Degas being a sadistic woman-hater and how we've gotten to this point. Anyway, TLDR; I was aware of the dark "underside" of the Paris Ballet at the time in which Degas was painting his works. Do I think he is Jack the Ripper and a man who participated in ballerina prostitution? No, not at all. At the end of the day, I am just an art history girl, telling anyone who will listen that there is not enough documentation on Degas to take these claims as 100% truth, or put that man up there with Picasso. Peace and Love! <3

[yuujiheart]

Reading chp 270 feels so weird.. I thought this would be the chapter where we would finally see yuji and will get some info on things that are actually necessary to complete the story.

What really gave me a headache was sukuna stuff. They found tengen remains in sukuna's remnants so logically they should have found it after sukuna's remains perished right? As we did see him getting disintegrate. But gakuganji said it is preserved in his remnants??? Like how???

This means sukuna's remnants DIDN'T disintegrate . So did yuji ( coz he was the only one who was there) stop the disintegration?? And this wasn't addressed at all.. I knew that not showing him disintegrate fully was suspicious... ( if anyone has a better explanation, feel free to comment). Not just that there was no mention of his last finger and the fingers he threw up.. Oh and the way they spoke it looks like this is a temporary arrangement so they still need to fix it..

They not talking about gojo itself is suspicious.. At least tell us what the hell is going on with his body. Or gege gonna jump scare us with his face in next chapter

Gakuganji not being in a hurry to take countermeasures.. Higuruma's hand/ arm still hasn't recovered as if he forgot he can do rct.. I didn't think too much of him being alive as I thought shoko along with arata and amai might have saved him from dying as uiui took him out of the battlefield swiftly but now this is weird..

Aside from this chap stuff, I am also thinking why gege isn't addressing the real thing as he must know readers are waiting for yuji's lineage, kenny , sukuna, tengen relationship, yuji gojo convo.. What is yuji thinking? Sure we can't get a backstory but he could have revealed that info in chp 257 style. Bro dedicated one chap to less important stuff but completely ignored the real deal... I find it irritating and funny too. Only I don't want to laugh... 😑😑😑

And now that they have added this mission too and it will surely take at least 4-6 pages assuming it would be a normal mission and then will address the real stuff which I wonder if he can cover in one chp. And that's why I suspect we are gonna get a jjk part 2 with a big twist in the last chp.. Because I find it hard to believe that gege would end his first major work like this. This person dedicated half chap answering why they didn't do certain things in a certain way in battle but yeah I should believe he doesn't want to address major plot points which again I don't think he can do it in one chap ..

So yeah i am gonna believe in gege till the end.. I mean I know I am signing myself for disappointment probably then again it can't get any worse than this... So why not one more time.. As if we aren't familiar to this...🥲🥲( but I strongly suggest to not do this as it can get reaaaaaaaalllly painful)

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Howling Moon (werewolf!bucky)

Summary: you find out Bucky's a werewolf.

WC:920ish

Warnings: angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, werewolf!bucky

Read on Ao3!

-

The forest was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant howls, the moon casting a silvery glow that turned the world into a dreamscape. You always loved the woods, but tonight felt different—charged with an energy you couldn't quite place.

As you walked deeper, your thoughts drifted to him. Bucky Barnes. The quiet guy from town, whose brooding demeanor held secrets you yearned to uncover. Rumors swirled about him, whispers of something otherworldly. Yet, the mystery only drew you closer.

Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the trees, making you pause. You felt a rush of adrenaline, but it was swiftly replaced by a comforting presence. There was Bucky, emerging from the shadows, his blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“Hey,” you said, heart racing. “What are you doing out here?”

He stepped closer, the tension palpable. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I needed to think,” you replied, searching his gaze for answers. “I’ve been hearing... stories. There’s wolves around these parts, or so I’ve heard. Been wondering what they look like, how they attack their prey. Or if they even exist in these lands.”

“It’s not safe for you to be out here by yourself,” he titled his head to the left as he looked at you. “I think you should go back to the village.”

You thought it strange how he ignored your statement. “Bucky, why are you-” you cut off as a howl echoed through the woods surrounding you. Just as you turned around to gaze into the thicket of trees, you felt a searing pain in your shoulder as sharp canines sank into your skin.

The next morning, you were laid up in your own bed at home, covered under your duvet, warm from the night. You’d laid there for a moment, thinking about the night previous, yet, you could hardly remember much. Didn’t i meet with someone? 

Just then, you heard a knock on your doorframe and glanced up, seeing your best friend,  Bucky, leaning against he doorframe, looking absolutely exhausted. His hair unkempt, his exposed arms covered in bruises. What the hell happened? 

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, unnaturally nervous, eyeing you with caution and concern. “You were out cold when I found you out in the forest.”

“Bucky, i had the strangest dream,” you whispered, sitting up against your headboard and beckoning him inside the room.

He tensed for a moment before walking over to you, his body stiff as you reached out to him, tracing your fingers along the random scratches and bruises he’d acquired the night before. 

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, though his focus didn’t seem to be on you.

“Do you think werewolves exist in the forest?” you asked quietly, as though speaking louder would attract unwanted wolves to barge into your small cottage.

“Anything’s possible, sweetheart,” he frowned. You didn’t miss the worried looks he threw at you as his eyes finally grazed down your body. He knew what he’d done last night. And he damn sure knew you would shout to the villagers of his disease.

“I had a dream - you were there- and-” you coughed out for a moment, grabbing at your midriff as pain shot up from one of the many injuries you had splattered across your body. “- and then everything went black and I woke up.”

“I-” he started, afraid to admit anything to you, afraid that you would hate him for hurting you.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” you whispered, acknowledging his behavior. “One of those monsters that keep attacking the villagers every month? Bucky, how? How could i have been so foolish as to not figure this out sooner?”

He flinched as though you had gone to strike him in the face.

“Bucky, tell me.”

“You already know the truth,” he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat as he pulled away from your touch, standing in the far corner of the room. “I wanted you time and time again not to frolic through the woods late at night. I warned you of the dangers of it.”

“I’m not going to run and tell the town crier, if that’s what you think of me, Bucky,” you frowned. The way he kept flinching as you spoke broke your heart.

"I just need you to be okay," you patted the empty space he'd just vacated. "Come here."

"You were never supposed to know."

Your heart ached for him, the weight of his past hanging heavy in the air as he returned back to the bed. “You’re not a monster, Bucky. You’re still you.”

His eyes met yours, searching, as if he was trying to determine whether you could handle the truth. “What if I can’t control it? What if I hurt someone else? What if I kill you?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” you said softly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He let out a shaky breath, tension easing just a fraction. “You’re brave, you know that?”

“Maybe just stubborn,” you replied with a small smile, hoping to lighten the moment. “Or maybe I just see the real you.”

"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said, eyes surveying the damage he'd done to you. He let out a soft whimper as he finally assessed the damage he caused, partially large bruise across your shoulder into your collarbone.

Without saying anything else, you removed the duvet from your body and leaned forward, pulling him in for a deep hug. "I will always care about you, Bucky."

-

tags!

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

MARVEL PERM: @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @late-to-the-party-81 @capsthot @kenzieam @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

[syndrossi]

We've seen the aftermath of the kidnapping for the twins, but what about the hell of kidnapping in Rescue AU for Daemon?

He'll be forced to watch the boys being held captive as Crayne repeatedly touches Rhaegar's hair admiringly. How Crayne suspecting that Daemon wants to do something threatens to strain himself over Rhaegar right in front of Daemon's eyes. Then Jon makes a failed assassination attempt and Crayne breaks his arm and wonders aloud if it's worth keeping such a troubled child. And Daemon is forced to beg to keep his child alive and Crayne is ecstatic and revels in that power. He keeps Rhaegar close to him and constantly touching his hair as a reminder of his dominion to Jon and Daemon.

And then they meet a sorcerer who throws eggs into the fire and orders the boys to retrieve them and Daemon's heart stops in fear.

The boys would try to comfort him later that it wasn't his fault, that they themselves had asked him to turn away. But that wouldn't help Daemon, because he's an adult and should have known better, because he'd only recently miraculously found his children and had been so careless about their safety - only to be punished by fate. Because he shouldn't have turned his back. Should have brought his guards with him. Should have stayed in a safe castle.

After the kidnapping, Daemon will panic for a long time to come when the boys disappear from his sight.

Seeing his children harmed and yet being completely helpless is the worst nightmare that has come to fruition in his reality.

It's certainly going to be the most nightmarish for Daemon, because he thought he was capable of protecting them, only to find himself powerless here. (Until dramatic escape with lots of death and destruction, of course!)

I will say that Crayne's gonna be a bit muzzled, since the Volantenes are technically in charge of things and will be guarding the boys as well, but Daemon is considered potentially quite threatening, so Crayne's allowed to do whatever is needed to keep him in line. And he's considered an "expert" on Jon and Rhaegar, so he's also given some license for ensuring they don't try to escape.

(Put another way, whereas before Crayne had his "put up a struggle and I kill Jon to make things easier", Jon is off-limits, and it's now Daemon who's considered the most expendable.)

It is very sad that they lose that innocent freedom of the first part of simply being able to roam the city without care. There's gonna be a lot of paranoia in the coming weeks/moons, and Daemon's heart is probably going to be in his throat any time he's anywhere with the twins, turns away, and suddenly can't see them.

[piplupod]

people defending their precious white man of the week and ignoring BIPOC pointing out his racism Yet Again. i'm so tired. i'm so tired. i'm so tired!!!!!!

[swarmfly]

I finally caught one of the livestreams last night (I'm in Canada so it's at like ass o'clock in the morning for me) and it made me so fuckin happy. Every time I catch clips of them on stage I'm reminded of just how much MCR means to me. I've carried them with me for over half of my life, their art has impacted me in ways I can't fully explain. I'm just so greatful to be here and to be alive to experience this alongside so many people who feel the same.

I just took my meds and also had coffee so It's Real Kvelling Hours™️ over here so ignore me if you find this sappy shit boring-

I used to get so embarrassed about saying shit like "This band saved my life" because I was scared of sounding cringey or obsessive, but they really did and I'm so fucking thankful. They helped me save myself, this community helped me save myself, and thanks to that I'm living a life I could have never imagined.

I remember being 12 years old, making my first emo little tumblr account and finding the MCR community. My friends and I making matching URLs and blog themes, sharing memes and making edits and just having so much fun. Throughout all the terrible, scary times I've been able to come back here and have a safe place to just engage in my special interest and find some peace. I might have grown apart from those friends, but this community has always felt like home to me so I don't exactly feel alone in it.

It's because of this community, as well as MCR's loud acceptance, support and welcoming of queer people that I've really learned how to be proud and unashamed of my queer identity. When I was in situations where I wasn't being accepted or treated fairly, it made that shit hurt far less knowing that there were so many good people out there like me, and that would support me. Now with all the scary shit going on in the world it's been really comforting to know that I still have this to turn to.

So basically thank you MCR for making art that's shaped me in ways I hold so close to my heart and will forever, Thank you MCR Community for existing alongside me and sharing this beautiful experience, we might not be perfect but I've felt safer here than I have any other fan space, and thank you Autism Brain for slapping me in the face repeatedly with this special interest for over a decade without a moment's rest you're the real MVP.

[xxfrankensteinsmonsterxx]

.

[kuroakikitsune]

.

[danveration]

Sleep well, amour.

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: You’ve been very intrested in Alastor ever since you met him. He invites you to see his recording studio, which you accept. Then you ask if you can stay and listen to him host! While listening, you fall asleep. How does he react?

Word count: 2844

Warnings: Ummm not really much? Alastor being Alastor! One mention of not being able to sleep sometimes, mention of seeing people in hell doing dr*gs, k*lling eachother, and fighting, mention of reader having bad social skills (?)

part two

A/N: UM!! this is my first time writing for alastor, so apologies if it isn’t the best. Please give me any feedback you want, I’d love to hear it! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy :’)

Alastor the radio demon. You know of the things he’s done, you know that people are quite literally terrified of him. But for some reason... you feel a certain way towards him that you can’t describe, but it’s surely not fear.

You’ve had a some-what odd admiration of him since you landed in hell, only a few months ago. You got spotted by Charlie when you first got to hell. She noticed you looking around nervously and lost, and put two and two together that you must be new. She very kindly introduced herself which was refreshing because.. well.. it’s hell. Everywhere you looked people were fighting, doing drugs, and even killing each other. You were glad there were kind people even down here.

“Hi, you! Uh, you lost?” Charlie smiled you and waved.

“Um yeah! I’m guessing this is hell, huh?” You awkwardly chuckle. Social skills weren’t ever your thing, it seems they haven’t got better after you died, either.

“Yep! This is hell! You must be new? I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar. It’s so nice to meet you.” She smiled and stuck out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie! My names Y/n.” You politely smiled back and shook her hand.

After that meeting, Charlie showed you to the hotel in which you eagerly accepted to stay at, her being the only sane thing you’ve seen down here. It was a pretty nice place, no 5 star hotel like back on earth, but it was something you’re very grateful for. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you haven’t met her.

While she was showing you around, someone caught your eye. He was a tall man, very polite and respectful looking. He was dressed head to toe in old fashioned attire, with a cane to suit his charming look. He was smiling in a way that made you look at him like he was something you wanted to inspect under a magnifying glass.

He glanced at you and smiled larger, stepping over to you and Charlie.

“My, my! What do we have here? Charlie! You didn’t tell me that we’ve got more guests? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear! The names Alastor!” He spoke politely.

His voice was sort of.. Radio-like? You found it soothing.

“Haha yeah! I found them wandering around on the street this morning! They’re a newcomer, their name is Y/n.” She spoke back, excited to introduce you.

“Y/n! Well, my, my. That’s quite a lovely name!” He said. “Say.. do you listen to radio? I host a brilliant radio broadcast that’ll give you some real insight on this place!” He said enthusiastically.

“Oh.. haha thank you” You smile. “I do actually! I love radio shows.” You immediately feel drawn towads him. You cant tell if it’s just the new scenery or what.. but you want to just sit and chat with him for hours.

Alastor perks up at that. “Oh you do, do you?” He smiled more.

“Yeah! Back when I was.. uhm.. alive, I actually had a whole playlist of them! What do you do your show about?” You ask.

Alastor is delighted to have you take interest in his show. “Well, dear, I do all sorts of things on there! Yes, yes, you think of it and I’ve most probably done it! Most commonly known is the souls I entrap and prison, as I broadcast their screams of horror all over this horrible place and people get to hear the noises of their never-ending torture and demise. But! I also just made a wonderful segment on my mother’s Jambalaya recipe!” He stated.

While part of those sentences gave you chills, you still seemed to take interest in him.

“Well,” you chuckle. “I will certainly check it out!” You smile.

“Ah! Wonderful news, my dear.” He said while he twirled his cane.

Charlie was watching you interact with him and noticed how you looked at him, as if admiring. She smile and said, “well! We better finish the tour.”

She motions for you to follow her and you do, waving Alastor goodbye.

He waves back and yells, “goodbye, sweetheart! Lovely to have met you.”

After that, you wanted absolutely everything to do with him. You’ve also got to know the other people staying at the hotel. Angel, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. They were overall kind people. Husk found your interest in Alastor to be no good.

“Yeah, no. That, whatever thing you have created in your mind about him, isn’t true. He’s vile, Y/n. Trust me on that.” He grunts.

Angel thought you had some kind of kink towards “scary, creepy men.” Which wasn’t true because you didn’t even find him scary. You found him charming.

“Ah.. Alastor? Fucking sexy weirdo if I do say so myself. He’s got some reaaal problems but hey, if you’re into that-“ You cut him off by saying it wasn’t like that & that you don’t think anything sexual towards him.

One day, you were talking to Sir Pentious about his “crush” on Cherry Bomb. He completely denied it but you could tell from his blush and his nervous demeanour that he was very interested in her.

You were caught off guard when you heard that radio voice coming up from behind you.

“Y/n, my dear! I have a question for you.” Alastor came and stood beside you, looking down from where you’re sitting.

“Al! Hey, what’s up?” You ask, containing your excitement.

Sir Pentious excused himself quickly, seeing one of his “egg boys” were being played with by Niffty. She isn’t one to be gentle.

“So, I know how you’ve been listening to my radio show as of late, and I was wondering if you’d like to see where the magic happens!” He states.

“R-really? I’d be honoured!” You say, smiling.

“Ah! Lovely. Come now, this way.”

You get up and he locks arms with you and chats about his new microphone that he got.

Once you guys arrive, you’re shocked. It looks very professional and comfortable. It suits him heavily. There’s a big open window, a desk, some chairs and sofas, a bunch of technical stuff on the desk along with his new mic that you recognize from his descriptions, and a deer coat hanger?

“Wow, Alastor. This place is so actually so sick. I love it. And the new microphone suits you!” You say. “Thank you for showing me, really.”

Typically, Alastor would never show someone something personal of his, including his studio, but you are an exception. He isn’t sure what it is about you but he doesn’t seem to hate you as much as he does with anyone else. At first he was weirded out, but now he just embraces it. He also feels protective of you. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re even down here. For as far is he can tell, you’re an angel. Always being kind even to those who aren’t kind to you, always saying “please” and “thank you,” all that jazz. Jazz! You even like jazz music, his favourite. He told you that he lived on earth the time jazz music was popular. The 20’s and 30’s. That explains his vocabulary and how he dresses. You just find it more interesting and take time to ask questions about what it was like in that time.

“Why of course, my dear! If I’d want to show anyone here, it would be you.” He says, giving you his iconic smile.

You have a thought. “Hey, Al? Would it be alright if the next time you do a show, I could stay and listen?”

You hope he doesn’t think this is odd.

Alastor raises a brow. “Why would you want to do that?” He asks.

You panic, thinking you went too far by asking and now he’s going to cut you off or something.

“Ha! Kidding, sweetheart! Of course you can. I love when my broadcast is wanted to be listened to. Though I love it as well when they don’t want to.” He says.

You’re relieved, a bit scared, but still relieved.

“Say!” He says. “I was going to make one tonight talking about this silly technology box that thinks he is better than me! You know, expose all his lies and secrets to my listeners, and unwilling listeners. Maybe broadcast it all throughout hell!” He starts laughing manically. Then calms down and stares at you.

“Would you want to stay and listen, hm? I can do it now! I didn’t have any plans today going forward and well, getting it out sooner is better than later, I always say.” He asks.

You know he’s talking about Vox when he mentioned the technology box. Him and Vox have a sort of rivalry going on. Though Alastor seems to not care much about him, Vox is sure obsessed. He’s even gone so far as to making posters about him. Which areee.. not much of a resemblance.

This offer strikes you and you immediately perk up. “Yes! I’d love to.” You say.

You don’t think Alastor knows this but whenever you’re struggling to sleep, you put on his radio show and his voice comforts you to sleep. You’re sure if you told him, he would find it weird.

Little did you know, Alastor already knew. He walked past your room one night and heard static sounds coming from your quarters. He immediately was intrigued and put his ear close to your door to hear his voice. He was surprised, but not weirded out. He found it delightful that you found comfort in his voice. It’s not everyday someone does. Usually it invokes terror and anxiety on anyone who hears. This was new, and he didn’t hate it.

“Lovely! Let me get all set up. You can sit wherever you feel the most comfortable!” He says, adjusting his mic and pressing a buttons on his table.

You find a spot and sit down. Feeling honored to even be in the same room as him, let alone HIS room.

“Ahem! Welcome ladies and gentlemen-“ He goes off into his introduction, before winking at you and starting.

After about 20 minutes, you begin to feel tired and put your head on the side of the wall, still listening but with your eyes closed.

Alastor immediately notices and smirks, knowing how his voice effects you. He continues on and after about another 20 minutes, he finishes up. You’re asleep, slightly smiling.

He walks over to you and looks down.

“My, my. You really are an interesting one, aren’t you?” He whispers. He smiles more softly than he usually does and looks around to find a purple blanket hanging on his deer coat hanger, and gently places it on you.

He feels his heart fluttering while looking down at you and he immediately shrugs it off.

“Mm well, my dear.. I guess you can stay here. I’ll just be over there, transferring my broadcast to the other radios around town.” He says and points to his table.

“Sleep well, amour.” He speaks softly.

[sistertotheknowitall]

Danny is Some Guy with a not so secret admirer.

Part four? Post #four? I don’t know, none of these are exactly in order. Post one, post two, post three.

——

By the time Tim opened the door, Danny had his coffee made and handed to Mia at the register. He resolutely ignored her smug face and went back to making the other orders.

Tim had been a regular long before Danny had started at the coffee shop but it was three days into Danny’s third week when Tim had stumbled in at eight a.m. and did a double take upon seeing Danny. A very obvious double take followed by intense staring before Mia had cleared her throat. The blush that lit up Tim’s face was only rivaled by the one on Danny’s.

He had never had anyone openly stare at him before.

Mia had been insufferable ever since.

It also didn’t help that shortly after their first meeting Tim had started taking his breaks at the little coffee shop. It’s been three weeks, nearly a month and Wayne Enterprise’s CEO went from a bi-weekly regular to an everyday one. (Danny wondered if he should be concerned for the man’s caffeine intake but he only had the one cup every time so probably not.)

Originally, Danny had no plans to talk to Tim. It seemed obvious the guy had a crush on Danny if the constant looks over his laptop were anything to go by and Danny didn’t want to encourage it. Danny barely had time to make new friends let alone start a relationship.

There was also the added problem of what was quickly becoming his bat stalkers. How do you explain to someone that you were being watched by Gotham’s vigilante’s for no reason? (Or worse because he had made a poorly timed sleep-deprived comment.) Danny didn’t think you could without seeming suspicious.

Incidentally though, Danny’s plan went out the window when on a slow afternoon as he was cleaning tables and passed behind Tim. Once he saw the article the other man was reading he snorted.

Bruce Wayne and The Batman? Could This Be A New Romance For Gothams Most Beloved Billionaire?

It was one of those gossip rags that printed things like: Elvis: alive and well and Superman: a mild mannered farm boy? It was all nonsense.

Danny asked Tim why he bothered with the site and Tim responded that he found it amusing to read and that his family had a group chat where they sent the articles to each other.

“Okay. But Batman? Really? Your dad could do so much better.”

“You don’t like Batman?” Tim asked. Danny had slid into the chair next to him and shrugged. “I respect what he does but for as intimidating as he is, he also seems a little silly.”

Tim had given him an incredulous look and Danny hadn’t given him time to ask for an explanation, “and his kids can be just as rude. Like that flying monkey one.” Tim choked on air and Danny politely waited for him to calm down. “Kids? Wait - flying monkey one? Which one -?”

“The one always doing back flips with the blue bird symbol. He’s also a dick that gives hypocritical lectures about fighting.” Danny wouldn’t say he hated the guy but he wasn’t sure how many more lectures he could endure before going ghost and fighting him.

Tim had turned to Danny completely and was watching him with a look of disbelief, “you mean Nightwing?”

“Is that his name? Imma call him Dickwing.”

Tim had started choking again, this time Danny patted his back hoping to help. Yet it was all for not once he kept talking, “I think I’ve only had positive interactions with the one who looks like a walking red flag.”

“Red flag? Do you men hood-?”

“No, although he is definitely a red flag, I mean the other Red one. I’m sorry, I don’t know all these peoples names yet.”

“Danny!” Mia called.

Danny stood and patted Tim, who looked a little shell-shocked, on the shoulder. “Well work calls, see you later Mr. Drake-Wayne.” As he walked away he heard Tim mutter “it’s just Tim.”

(Tim for his part, placed his head in his hands and thought, well at least I have his name now.)

After that first interaction Tim stopped playing the lurker and started to actually talk to Danny and vise versa. Danny never asked if he still had a crush on him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Unfortunately, their growing friendship had only encoraged Mia as she happily sang “your boyfriend’s here!”

Danny, very maturely, did not stick his tongue out at her. He did however flip her off under the counter like an adult.

[dolicekiss]

Silver Sobs

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen X Sister!reader

CONTENT WARNING: incestous relationships (obviously) noncon, dubious con (?), somnophilia, smut (18+, mdni), dark aemond, unprotected sex, breeding, nipple play, forced kissing, threats, coercion, praise, obsessed and sick aemond, display of possessiveness, hair pulling, biting.

SYNOPSIS: After the terrifying battle which took place at Rook’s Rest, Aemond’s lust for power had still not subsided despite burning his own brother, the king of Westeros. He arrives at King’s Landing with one thing in mind; to claim everything that belongs to his brother which included — you, his sweet dear sister. The Queen.

Restless and relentless, you paced around the floor of your chambers. Finger nails scratching the skin around them, drawing blood from beneath the stripped flesh.

War was blooming, like a dangerous grey cloud above your heads with the prominent promise of a storm. Panic was everywhere, as well as despair. Multiple soldiers had died, leaving behind their families to fend for themselves, the King had fallen.

And amongst all that, you could only possibly worry for the well being of your only child, Jaehaera. After what had befallen your innocent babe, you had completely disconnected from everything.

Under the name of war, you suffered. You witnessed the atrocities committed by Rhaenyra’s men and your mind had become a void — as you found yourself sinking deeper and deeper into it. Images and reality merging together. Both a foreign concept.

There was no one there for you.

Everyone enamoured with the idea of winning the war, playing their parts, desperate to stay alive. You were all but a pawn, a machine to produce heirs. You knew they didn't even consider you a proper Queen.

The smallfolk and even your own mother, Dowager Queen as well as your brother, Aemond.

Yet you did not care.

You wished to be left alone, pay no mind to such things. Break free from the uneasy restraints of danger and war. Form peace, relish in it. Is all you wanted.

You were not blessed with the courage to go pay your badly injured husband a visit, choosing to nip and scratch at your own skin was a much better and comforting option.

Losing your babe made you realize none of this was worth it. Not a single person in Westeros could end the brewing war and you'd left everyone to fend for themselves — just as they had abandoned you.

Darkness fell over Westeros and meanwhile your maidens were preparing you for bed, Aemond on the other hand battled obscene thoughts and needs at such a dark hour.

Aemond drowned himself in wine yet it had no affect on him. Instead he found himself wondering about staking a claim over everything that belonged to his brother. He got the throne, when he didn't even wish for it and he got you — the sister that Aemond himself wanted.

From when you both were only children, little kids, Aemond had thought of marrying his older sister. Only a year younger, he was. Hoping he'd be the one who's children you'd carry, watching your stomach swell up with his babes and be his wife but even that was snatched right away from him in the name of serving the realm.

His childhood snatched — face left deformed and disabled, a laughing stock that he'd become for his older brother. The drunken fool who had no right to even linger around such a prestigious throne, made only for strong willed men and warriors to take a seat on.

Aegon was no warrior.

He was foolish, an embarrassment and an utter disappointment.

Incapable of pronouncing a word properly in high valyrian.

And he surely did not deserve to have such a sweet little bird such as yourself by his side.

He finished his wine in one gulp and slammed the glass down, aggressively against the wooden table. Criston Cole was nowhere to be seen and Aemond made up his mind to ravage you, to claim you like he had already desired to from the beginning of time.

His steps were stable and strong, booming through the halls of the red keep. Each step only brought him closer to your chambers, driving himself quickly up the stairs which lead to your chambers.

He was relieved to find no guards guardian you and scoffed, realizing how little and less important you were to the Hightowers.

Aemond’s hands moved to push past the doors and there you were, sound asleep in your bed. Your daughter asleep in a cradle a little far away from your bed. He closed the heavy doors and sauntered towards the bed, standing at its foot.

He had consumed wine but he was not drunk at all. Matter of fact, Aemond was as sober as the day he was born.

Your silk robe concealed the plush of your creamy breasts as they rose up and down in soft little attempts to inhale air, one arm laid leisurely over your stomach while the other somewhere concealed within your silver, sparkling hair.

Aemond felt his cock harden in his leather slacks, his sword still attached to his hip. Reaching for it, he undid it and placed it over a table across and then moved his body to continue admiring your body, the vulnerability you showcased had him frozen on the spot.

The lecherous act he was heading to engage in would surely leave you in disarray too but Aemond was too far gone to even care anymore.

He'd arrived to claim what was rightfully his.

He walked to the side of the bed, hands reaching out to remove the blanket from your frail figure. Then his hands pried open the robe, revealing your kirtle. It scarcely did anything to veil your dignity and Aemond shuddered.

His hands, his war causing hands, sinful hands, moved covetously over your body. Fingers digging into your neckline to pull it down, watching with his one good eye as your breasts spilled out. The cold air forced your pebbles into peaks and Aemond nearly lost all restraint.

Large hand cupping your left breast, a callous thumb flicked your nipple and your already parted lips released a short lived gasp. He was pleased with the soft sound, as subtle as it was.

Aemond sat next to you on the empty space, slithering his tongue over his plump lips. Your breaths were soft, the only sound echoing in the expanse of your room, cutting through the silence like butter. His own breath hitched in his throat, upon witnessing the disarray you were in.

Hair like rippled waves of the narrow sea, body loose and comfortable. Aemond leaned in, shrinking the space between the two of you, to analyze your features. He'd never gotten the chance to do, you'd never allow him. You were anything but an immoral woman who'd give herself to him on a silver platter.

You were the Queen.

Aemond knew he'd be reprimanded for even being in your room, staring at you up close like this. He had unraveled you like some gift, like a present and he wished to do so much more.

Your beautifully long lashes coated the apples of your cheeks and Aemond, with a gloved hand, reached to swipe the thick strand of hair away from your cheek. Just by touching you, despite having leather separate his skin from becoming one with yours, he was already thanking the Gods for blessing him with you.

Aemond slowly slipped his gloves off, resting them on the table next to the bed. He fully slipped into bed next to you, face buried in the crook of your neck and bare hands slithering to fondle with your beautiful, plump breasts.

Soft flesh with hardened nipples.

A soft breath from his lips ghosted over your nape, his hips pushing into your hip in dire need for physical affection. Aemond had slept with whores, he'd fucked them but for the first time in his life he wanted to lay with a woman to satiate his hopelessness for affection.

Something he never received from his mother, Alicent and Rhaenyra always managed to overshadow him.

He let out a guttural moan, pushing his hips more into you and when you shifted in your sleep — back turned to him, Aemond fucking lost it. You had exposed your perfect curves to him, how your ass was shaped and how your side dipped in, giving you the shape of a goddess.

In your state of unconsciousness, you had presented yourself to him like a feast.

Aemond’s actions grew haste. Hands reaching from behind to grope your tits much more roughly, hips stuttering into you from behind and his cock leaked from the amount of pleasure the depravity of this endeavor brought him.

His breath grew quicker, heavier and your sleep was soon disturbed. As you fluttered your eyes opened, revealing the purple hues, your sleepy brain finally acknowledged your surroundings and the cold, callous hands fondling you from behind.

You gasped, giving away hint of your consciousness and before you could even scream, Aemond had already wrapped a palm over your mouth.

“Sh, sh. It's me, Aemond.” As if that would make things much better for you, but this revelation only worked to make things harder for you.

Your eyes widening in horror and when you tried to shift, a feeble attempt to slip out of his tight grasp, you realized the severity of the situation. Aemond’s hard manhood was pressed up right between your ass. Your brother's and it left you completely astonished. Your flight or fight response being triggered.

You tried to say something but only muffled words paired with broken sobs tore managed to make through the little space between Aemond’s slim fingers clasped tightly over your lips. Your vision blurred as you tried to focus on the cradle in which your daughter laid, asleep and in peace.

Aemond had glued himself to you. “I've missed you, dear sister. I miss our childhood, I miss what we had. Remnants of our childhood always haunts me.”

You almost felt bad. Guilt ridden because somewhere, deep down, you were aware of the feelings your brother harbored for you. The two of you would even go as far as behaving as you were already betrothed to each other when younglings.

You moved past it, accepted your loveless marriage with the care less drunken brother of yours. You succumbed to your targaryen traditions, roles and duties bestowed upon you by the Gods but it appeared that Aemond decided to fight that Gods.

He chose to go against destiny and the traditions.

“I will remove my hand and you shall keep your honor and dignity intact, Dear sister.” You nodded in desperation and Aemond with great reluctance peeled his hand off your face, causing you to inhale a sharp breath.

You registered the situation you were in. Breasts spilled out, hair pushed aside with Aemond buried in your nape. Seeking solace that he never found in his mother's embrace and you swallowed. Tears streamed down, soaking into the cushions.

“This is wrong.” You whispered, hoping that you don't awaken the dragon in him. “Immoral, Aemond. I am your sister, the Queen. I carried His Grace’s heirs. You cannot do this.”

Your tone was fearsome and Aemond’s irritation grew when you faced him with the facts. He knew about this already and he did not care, not in the slightest. His arm which had wrapped around your waist, tightened, a warning to tread carefully.

“His Grace is also your brother, our brother, so what is so immoral about us engaging in such..” Aemond couldn't call it debauchery, because he didn't see it exactly as that. He saw it as something more, something pure beyond anyone's understanding. “acts.”

You tried to shift, to face him and when you did, Aemond was already staring back at you, his patch still over his disabled eye.

Surely with more persuasion he would leave your chambers and you could pretend that none of this happened but unfortunately for you, there was no God, no sept or no traditions that could change his mind.

“Aemond, I'm his lady wife. I'm merely your sister. Please try to understan—”

Aemond nearly growled. “Do not remind me over and over again that he – a drunkard, an idiot – managed to put his heirs in you when you were supposed to carry mine! You were mine, do you hear me? It is about time I get what is rightfully mine, what was taken from me.”

Before you could say more, Aemond closed the space between you two and captured your lips in a rough kiss. One with which you could not keep up — small fists banging at his chest, in tethered hope that he might have a change of heart and dissipate from your presence.

Your husband was fighting for his life, meanwhile you were laying nearly bare in front of your brother.

You felt bile rise up in your throat but you had no other option than to swallow it back down as Aemond’s passionate lip lock grew more restless and haste. Using up all your strength in an endeavor to push him, yet there was no retribution. He carried on with his sick intentions.

His hands moved down to grab a handful of both your tits, his lips swallowing your little whines and pleas. His rutting which had stalled, continued again as he pushed his hardened cock into your mound.

“A-Aemond.. ” You tried to reason, still.

His hands worked their way around your breasts, flicking your hardened peaks repeatedly and your body twitched. You did not wish to accept it but this was the most pleasure you'd felt in your whole life.

Warming your husband’s bed was only to fulfill his desires, his needs and wants. You were solely a doll, a lifeless being who only existed for Aegon to have his pleasures with. You always wondered how your own mother could subject you to such cruelty, such monstrosity.

To lay awake at night and welcome your husband, whom you do not wish to even breath the same air as, with open arms.

Aemond’s potent tongue pried your lips open and you let it happen, not possessing any more of courage. His tongue danced with yours, a reminiscent of the dragons that danced above Rooks’s Rest. He panted like a wild beast, and you followed.

Dire need to consume you warred with his ache for you and Aemond soon tore away from you but continued flicking your swollen buds. He stared at you, eye dark and rapacious.

Your cheeks were flushed and the rays of moonlight illuminated the beads of sweat on your forehead. Aemond was lost in you, drunk off a single kiss and he simply could not wait to have more of you.

“You have grown into such a beautiful woman, Sister.” Aemond praised, pinching both your hardened pebbles simultaneously and you cried out a wail. “But before me I still see my older sister, nuha byka hunte.”

You flinched at the name.

He addressed you as his little bird in high valyrian when you were kids and then he stopped, after witnessing your wedding to his brother. In all honesty, you longed to be called that and Aemond had finally responded to that longing of yours, unknowingly.

Aemond’s hands fell, fingers tucking underneath the edge of your silk robe as he tugged at it. You didn't allow it — still fighting back as you stayed still. He didn't like that one bit. The Targaryen man pressed his forehead against yours, warm breath lingering like a looming threat.

“You will let it happen.” He commanded, rendering you speechless. Chills dancing across your frail frame at the sheer dominance in his voice. Just when did your little Aemond grow up into a masculine and domineering man?

You shook your head, staring at him with a plea. “Stop ‘tis for I am the Queen, I am your Queen and I demand you to stop.”

Aemond tugged at the dress, bunching it up past your thighs. “I wish you were my Queen but instead those fucking cunts had you warming up my brother’s bed like some common whore.”

The overwhelming urge to cry took over and you sobbed, banging your fists against Aemond’s chest. It didn't seem to affect him much but it did rile him up how you fought to accept him but most probably allowed his brother in — gave yourself up to him in the name of duty and sacrifice.

“I'm not a whore!” You wailed, punching him over and over again. To flee from the upcoming acceptance of your situation but Aemond reprimanded you. He forbade you and greeted you in the form of your queasy truth.

Aemond grabbed both your wrists, glaring at you. “Yet he treats you as one. You're even below that for him. I have seen him show kindness he's never shown you, to a fucking whore. Not the mother of his children, not his queen, but a whore for some coin.”

The reality Aemond was making you face was slowly poisoning you from the inside. You couldn't even hit him anymore as your wrists had been restrained. Your demeanor fell and Aemond took notice, his fingers unclasping from around your small wrists.

He saw how you cried.

Softly, each tear falling as your pale pillow awaited to absorb your pain.

“But I would treat you differently. If it had been me, I would have cherished you like the only woman in the seven kingdoms and beyond that.” He whispered to you with yearning obvious in his voice.

Aemond managed to slip the petticoat off your body and revealed you to him — in all your glory. Skin bare and glistening from sweat. Each curve delicious and crafted by the seven Gods themselves. You were the embodiment of pure targaryen beauty, some even going as far as claiming you to be the most beautiful targaryen woman.

You tried to reach for the blanket, to cover the shredded pieces of your dignity but Aemond hurried to refrain you from doing so.

He grabbed both your wrists, slamming your back down on the bed and pinning you against the mattress. His body hovering over yours, knee bent and settled between your thighs. Your chest heaved, and tits bounced from the force of harsh pants.

Aemond’s knee pried open your thighs rather forcefully, pressing his knee against your cunt. His vile action had earned a whimper of discomfort and embarrassment out of you, your whole being resenting the throbbing sensation spreading in your core as it flourished.

“Tonight I shall have you and cherish you like you deserve, like I should have.” Aemond whispered, tone grave. “If you choose to stay adamant and resilient, I cannot promise you humility, nuha byka hunte.”

Your lips formed into a pout, tear ducts sore from all the droplets you'd shed. “A-Aemond please, don't. If you do this, everything will change.”

Aemond scoffed at your naivety. “Everything has changed, Sister. Brother is injured, I'm prince regent and you're going to carry my children.”

You shook your head, pushing at his slim frame but that only resulted in Aemond’s hand drowning in your silver, pale locks. A malicious grip tugging at the roots, a fiery sensation blooming.

“They will be bastards.” A lone tear slid down.

Aemond’s lips broke in a sadistic smirk. “And? The pretender can have bastards, not even remotely close to her late husband’s features but I can't have bastards with you?”

He licked his lips, his pointy, sharp nose caressing against your own. “Our children will look like true born Targaryens. They will have our purple eyes and silver hair.”

There was no point.

You were defeated.

Aemond saw you accept defeat and he smiled in victory, his other letting go off your hair and moving to grab yours. He pulled it to the strings of his leather slacks and encouraged you to undo them.

You shook your head and that angered Aemond.

How adamant could you be?

“I will shove my cock into your cunt one way or another and I will make sure my seed takes root inside you.” The vulgarity of his words made you sob, your hands trembling as you began to undo his strings. Pulling each one from the knots and finally loosening the leather enough for him to slide out of it.

Aemond was pleased and soon, he was naked too.

Leather pieces thrown over to the side along with his eye patch too.

When your gaze captured the sparkling sapphire in the void of his left eye, you were left appalled.

He had never ever shown you what was behind that eye patch. Even after you begged him to, he grew cold and pushed you away but now you had begun to realize it was probably because of the announcement of your betrothal to Aegon.

His silky strands were in a tedious contrast to your wavy, thick ones.

Lingering eyes caught the awakened cock between his legs and horror flashed in your widened eyes. He was blessed by the Gods, that was for sure and no wonder your brother was this famous amongst the ladies. He had the equipment to satisfy them.

You gulped, nervousness donning your face.

“I slept with other woman so I could become better for you. Incompetence and lack of experience would surely ruin this time, don't you think so, sweet Sister?” Aemond spoke, as his hand dropped from your knee to your center.

You flinched every time he caressed your skin and your abdomen twitched with absolute need. You failed to fathom where all this rush and need was birthing from — how the disgust lingered but along it roamed a feeling of desire which had erupted in the form of essence from your hole.

Aemond ran his slim, tenacious fingers over the stripe of your cunt, gathering the arousal you produced. “Your little cunt is very wet, Sister. Disobedience, wails and pounding at my chest. Is this all merely an act, to veil your sickly desires beneath?”

Your breath broke and humiliation draped itself around you like an invisible blanket. Your small hand reached over to deliver a tight slap to your brother's face, but it barely caused an impact. All you left was a red hand print on his face.

Aemond looked at you, head tilted and fire born in his eye.

You had awakened the dragon.

“Your actions tell me you have no desire to be treated with respect. So be it then.”

Your low chances of rebuttal were revoked as he slid two fingers at once into your opening, going to the point until he was knuckles deep inside your squelching cunt. You sobbed hopelessly, hands trying to push at him but none of it worked.

Your resistance only boosted his ego, his god complex. He had all the power over you, despite you being the Queen. How fucking pathetic and cruel life had been to you but Aemond was here. He was here to save you, and in order to do that, he had to claim you first.

You pushed inside you, caressing your cervix and your gummy walls clasped around his fingers. Your nails dug into his shoulder to cause him pain but that was a failed attempt as Aemond’s cock hardened even more — if that were possible — when he felt the prickling feeling on his shoulder.

The pain inflicted only heightened his arousal.

“A-Aemond, please.” Your cries were the least bit of his concerns, as he curved his fingers up and managed to hit that sweet concealed spot of yours.

Your back arched, lifting up from the mattress, hands bunching up the sheets in them. Writhing your hips, Aemond used his other hand to strike you down — a stinging sensation blossoming on your thigh. You suckled on your lower lip, to stifle your sounds. Jaehaera waking up could possibly ruin everything.

“The Queen’s cunt is truly worth becoming a kingslayer for. Look at how tightly you squeeze around my fingers, Sister.” He whispered, staring at you. You caught the shimmering of the sapphire and sniffled, your cheeks and nose a crimson color.

Death was much better than this humiliation at the hands of your own brother — one you used to see as your protector when you were a little girl.

“H-Have shame. Your sister.” You managed to whimper out and Aemond groaned in annoyance, retrieving his fingers from your cunt.

Your hole gaped as you whined at the loss of contact. He laid next to you, flipping you so your back was facing him. Aemond kicked your thighs open with his shins and pressed his red leaking cock head over your clit, moving it in soft little circles. The burial of your face in your pillows made you realize just how unbearable all this was.

“Do not turn away from me.” Aemond’s voice had a plea in it. “You allowed Aegon in, why is it so difficult to allow me in? I promise you, nuha byka hunte. You will never feel shame again, you will never be embarrassed by your husband again.”

His promises almost worked.

You found yourself wondering whether this was so bad. You'd slept with Aegon, in a much more brutal way, worse than Aemond. Usually he'd ignore you and your pleasure in his drunken state, only chasing after his own. Aemond made you feel good.

He actually cared enough to bring you pleasure.

You nodded your head with a soft sob. You wished things were better, that your betrothed was Aemond, not the other brother but things never turned out the way you wanted them to.

Aemond aligned his cock with your hole and sunk into you, face hidden in your nape as his naked body sought comfort in your presence, basking in it. His chin resting on the small cup of your shoulder, breath caressing the skin of your neck.

He was almost like a babe.

“Aemond.” You called out, feeling bad for what he was put through as a child. For what he had turned out to be.

Having your own children made you realize how easy it was to provide them with affection, so it was difficult for you to fathom why your own mother failed to show you and your brothers affection.

Aemond melted at the way you softly called out his name and his cock had fully sheathed inside your cunt, thighs pressed up against your ass. You'd become one and he was going to have you for himself now.

“Yes, my sweet sister?”

“It feels weird.” You spoke truthfully as you had never ever lay with a man in such a close and intimate position. Aemond figured what you were hinting at and he smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to your nape.

He moved his hips, stuttering inside you, grinding into your ass. Your sounds nearly woke up your daughter if it wasn't for Aemond’s hands slithering from behind, one groping your tits while the other silencing you.

“Quiet now. You don't wish to wake up your daughter, do you now?” You shook your head as he slowly rutted his cock inside you, pushing it deeper into that weak spot of yours and muffled sounds escaped your sealed lips.

Tears fell, and so did your dignity as your brother fucked himself into you with newfound vigor meant to swallow you whole.

Aemond lost his demeanor, his usually calm and nonchalant demeanor. Transforming into the sadistic monster that he was. He pulled his hand back from your swollen breasts and brought it to your hair, pulling it up rather harshly to expose more of your sweet skin.

A perfect spot. A clean canvas for him to paint his bloody streaks across.

He parted his lips open, baring his teeth and sinking the sharp canines into your skin. Being punctured with such severity, even his hand could not prevent the piercing scream that tore through your throat.

Your eyes squeezed shut as Aemond sunk his teeth. The searing pain of prickling bones a deadly contrast with the soft, sensual thrusts of his cock. A mess he had made you into and there was no escape from the lecherous bounds of your brother.

“I-It hurts. Aemond, it hurts!” You cried out, writhing against his body but his arm had locked you in place. Right against him.

The more you struggled, the more his long arm like a snake tightened around your stomach. He did not budge, not at all. Focused fully on the task at hand which was to leave a gut wrenching mark, as a testament to his claim over you.

When he was done suckling and drawing blood, he pulled back and hummed in satisfaction at the mark. A mix of reds, blues and purples. Such hues looked absolutely breathtaking on you. He pressed a soft kiss over the bruise, the two punctured hole and you shuddered.

Helplessness washed over you.

Your husband was hurt, in pain meanwhile you engaged in such debauchery with your brother.

Aemond snapped his hips, now ramming his cock into you. Pounding with potency and your body surged forward. He reached for your leg and pulled it up, holding it in air as he fucked you.

“P-Please. You're my broth–”

“Shut your damn hole.” Aemond snapped, patience wearing thin. “Keep saying I'm your brother but it only arouses me more.”

You gasped when you felt his cock head hit into that spongy bubble of sensitivity and Aemond scrunched his brows in over whelming pleasure. He had taken many maidens and whores but you were different – of course you were. A targaryen princess turned Queen, his own blood and flesh.

You ought to be different.

Aemond reveled in the feeling of your tight cunt pressing down on his cock, caressing every vein, soaking it in your juices. The sounds of his flesh colliding against yours enticed him in a way that he could not fathom. Like milk of the poppy, he wished to continue absorbing you.

His fingers rubbed your clit, the swollen bud twitching. All this pleasure, that you were so foreign to, it overwhelmed you. Thighs convulsing and abdomen building up knots, a warning of your upcoming orgasm.

“Brother, something’s happening. Aemond, please!” You wailed and he stared at your sweaty, flustered face.

Gods, had Aegon never once made you unravel?

How fucking pitiful.

Aemond grinned. “Yeah? You're going to make a mess, dear sister.”

Your stomach tightened and this unfamiliar feeling took over. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and your hands shifted hastily to find something, anything to grab a hold of as your body transcended to another realm. One visible to those who indulged themselves im such debauchery.

Aemond hissed. The sheer tightness of your cunt made him feel like he'll snap in half, his own groans and moans loud enough to reverberate through your chambers. He still continued to thrust, earning your climax out of you.

When you were done, Aemond raised himself and pulled his cock out of you. Relief washed over you but how naive were you, to assume he'd get dressed and leave without chasing after his own pleasure. Your eyes fluttered open and you found him right between your legs, kneeled.

“Are you not done?” Your voice was weary, soft and tired. Aemond chuckled at your innocence, both hands pulling your thighs apart.

His one good eye stared at your cunt, pink flesh glistening from your creamy arousal. He felt the urge to lean in and lick along the swollen stripe of your pussy but the throbbing of his cock made him cave in. He slipped inside you again, pulling both your legs up and balancing them on his shoulders.

Your lips released a gasp.

Aemond’s bestial and rapacious thrusts made you cry, muffled wails breaking apart. He stared at you as the sapphire glinted, his cock driving itself with fervor into your cunt, enjoying your sweet vice like grip.

Your shaky hands reached for his face, to cup it and Aemond leaned in your touch. Affectionate it was, his lips parted as he let out a broken breath, similar to how he felt on the inside. A broken boy and you felt horrible, like it was all your fault to begin with.

He had turned into a monster and it was all your fault.

“Your eye,” you whispered, his snaps coming to a halt. “its beautiful. You look so beautiful, Aemond.”

He admired you before snapping out of the trance and pounding into you. Aemond’s cock found comfort in your tight cunt and his release had grown closer to. You cried out, vision completely blurry and lips swollen, covered in drool.

“My beautiful sister.” He growled, pressing his pelvis against yours. “I shall fill you up, give you a child of mine. Your stomach will swell with our child. Your beautiful breasts will once again pump milk, this time for our babe.”

His palm laid flat on your stomach and you shook your head. You didn't want him to give you a child, as it would end badly for the both of you yet Aemond did not bother himself with traditions. He nuzzled his cock into you and with a loud groan, shot ropes after ropes into your walls.

Tainting your gummy flesh white. You sobbed as you felt the warm fluid fill up your stomach, your whole body suffering from prominent convulsions. Aemond’s cock bulged against your taut stomach, a fine print visible to you both.

When Aemond was done with his release, he pulled out and dropped on the bed right besides you. Body numb and throat parched from all the sounds you'd made, your gaze lingered across the room to find your daughter sound asleep.

Thank the Gods.

You turned to Aemond and found him already staring at you. His arm wrapped around you, refraining you from moving away from him as he nuzzled his neck into your neck. Aemond sniffed your scent, closing his eyes and relishing the sweetness of it. God, you were a dream come true for him.

“I will get rid of him soon.” Aemond whispered, hair mixing in with yours. “And then I will have you as my wife. Our child shall be conceived within the bounds of our marriage.”

[sweetrainbowcandy]

A Logan x chubby!reader blurb <3 let me know if you guys want a part two <3

TW: Suggestive

Edit: part two here

Logan never thought he’d get caught up with a pretty little thing like you.

You’re absolutely precious. Wade’s neighbor directly across from their now shared apartment. You’re shorter than him with the cutest chubby body, your legs and tummy jiggling subtly when you walk. It was enough to kill him, and that’s saying a lot for a man who can’t die.

You’d shared a couple brief greetings in the hallway, a polite smile from you and a nod from him. There was an afternoon him and Wade were walking back from helping the X-men on a mission where the two of them caught you struggling to pad down the stairs, looking nervously around your over-stuffed laundry basket with a focused, worried expression.

Logan didn’t know what came over him— sure, he was told beneath his spiky exterior he had a soft core, but he usually brushed off that comment as nothing more than people trying to make him feel better. Wade was halfway through throwing a teasing comment at you before Logan was already there, gently taking the laundry basket from your grasp and tucking it under his big arm.

Wade let out an over exaggerated gasp, and you immediately tried to reassure Logan you could do it yourself, but he was already headed down the stairs to the laundry room. Thats where you two formally introduced yourself to each other— and also Wade, who had followed the both of you downstairs since his FOMO was chronic.

You were precious, so fucking sweet and kind.

It was driving Logan crazy.

That’s why when Wade approached him asking if he could go over and fix your sink for you— you had asked Wade initially since you knew him better, but Wade told you to wait a moment while he talked to ‘the old ball and chain’— Logan knew that it was going to be a challenge.

Now, Logan wasn’t a plumber or anything, but in the two-hundred something years he’s been alive, you get around when you have to learn to provide for yourself. He took his toolbox he bought a couple weeks ago after Wade lost to the computers in Mario kart and got so pissed he broke the coffee table in the living room, so Logan bought and assembled a new one.

Knocking on your door, Logan found himself actually wondering if he looked okay, if his hair was too much of a mess and if his cowlicks made him look stupid. Little did he know you thought they were absolutely adorable.

You opened the door, blinking before smiling, opening it further and gesturing for him to come in, “Logan, hey!” You greeted softly, and he felt his heart rate speed up at the sight of the slight blush on your chubby cheeks, nodding as he stepped inside, “Sorry, I was expecting Wade,” you said with a small giggle.

Logan shook his head with a grunt, “Fucker can’t fix anything to save his life. Better at breaking shit,” he says, walking over into your sink and setting down the toolbox on the counter. He crouches to open up the cupboards beneath it, and he hears the subtle gulp from you behind him as you observed the muscles of his back flexing under his tight white tank.

“Well, I seriously can’t thank you enough,” you say softly, stammering a bit as you fidgeted with your slightly pudgy hands in front of you. Logan just nods, pushing down the voices in his head that screamed about how fucking cute you were, how he just wanted to grab you by your adorable chubby stomach and pound—

He blinked, grunting before turning back to the pipes, “‘S not a problem,” he says, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. He locates the problem, grabbing the desired tool and twisting a couple parts back into place.

You stood awkwardly behind him, your sweet scent enveloping him, and it was making it hard to focus. You smelt like vanilla, probably some sort of body butter or lotion based on how your skin glistened in the dim light of your apartment.

Focus, dammit.

“…Are you thirsty at all?” Your soft voice asks, and Logan pauses, pulling back out from under the sink to look up at you.

“Water’d be nice,” he nods, watching with a clenched jaw as you smile and pad over to your fridge, cursing softly under his breath at the sight of how your fat, jiggly ass bounced beneath the skirt of your sundress. You walk back over and hand it to him, and he quietly thanks you.

It’s a few more minutes of you standing there and watching him work before he pulls back, putting his tools away and checking the sink, watching as the water flowed out smoothly and patting the edge, “Should be good,” he says, and you grin ear to ear.

“Oh, Logan, thank you!” You say, walking over to where your purse sat on the counter and rifling through it before pulling out your pocketbook, “Let me at least pay you,”

Logan’s eyes briefly widen before he shakes his head, “No, no, you don’t gotta do that, bub,” he reassures, “I don’t do this lookin’ for payment.”

You stop pulling the bills out, “Are you sure?” You ask softly, and he nods. You felt bad not doing anything for him, “Are you sure there’s no way I can pay you back?” You ask, and Logan pauses, visibly tensing up. You tilt your head, unaware of the suggestive undertone of your words.

Yes, Logan thought, you can help me out by wrapping those soft lips around my cock. Logan prayed you couldn’t see the hunger that flashed behind his eyes. He just cleared his throat and shook his head, exchanging a couple more words with you before you thanked him and he went back to his apartment across from yours.

You shut the door and smiled, biting your bottom lip and holding back a giggle.

Maybe you’d mess with your sink on purpose again.

[autistichalsin]

Analysis of each character's final words in the new Dark Urge evil ending

If you are romanced to a character, you have the option, when taking the new version of the Sins of the Father ending, to kill your partner in front of the others in your party, killing them with one last kiss. They then give their last words and pass away. I love each and every one and feel they are incredible characterization moments.

So let's break these down!

Lae'zel:

I... I am glad it was you. No other blade would have sufficed.

This is something that hammers home that, Vlaakith or no, Lae'zel deeply believes in all the ideals of a Githyanki. Life is a privilege for the strong, and death is the price of weakness. Further, if romanced, Lae'zel will affectionately call you "the source of my bruises" many times. If she has to die, if she has finally found the one person stronger than herself, then she is "satisfied" that it is you- who she both loved and admired. The only one she would ever consider worthy of besting her.

Karlach:

Fuck you.

Short, simple, and to the point, just the way Karlach does everything else. She's already gone through all her stages of grief with her engine- well, almost all of them. Anger still remains. She burns hot until the end.

Wyll:

I... I forgive you.

This isn't just Wyll being a good guy. This is heartbreak, and guilt. Guilt for not saving you from Bhaal's influence when he was so sure he had. Heartbreak that after he gave his literal soul to save as many people as he could, he couldn't save you- and couldn't save others from you, either. All he sacrificed, negated in an instant by the person he loved and trusted most. Of all the characters here, Wyll (tied with Halsin) sounds the most obviously broken, and it's easy to see why, given that he is self-sacrificing to a fault.

There was a set of scenes datamined from the game, where at the Morphic Pool, the Netherbrain would have taunted the players, causing them to hallucinate things related to their fears and insecurities. Wyll's would have been a vision of himself talking about how he was never a hero, how the Blade of Frontiers was a farce all along. One can't help but think about that scene here, wondering just how much blame, bordering on self-loathing, he might feel here.

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart:

I... I'm coming to you, Lady Shar.

Another short and simple one. By becoming a Dark Justiciar, Shadowheart has fully embraced the nihilism of Shar's teachings. Why be saddened or angry at her own death when this is just what she's embraced with all her sacrifices?

(Sidenote: this does also answer a question I had, namely, what was going to happen to everyone Durge kills. Thankfully it seems they aren't actually going to be sacrificed to him as such, and will indeed end up in the realm of their deities. This makes Bhaal's plan even DUMBER, because deities in DND lore need worshippers to have enough power to exist. Killing everyone at once just guarantees that soon after Durge dies as the last person alive, so too will Bhaal fade from existence.)

Selunite Shadowheart:

I... I thought we were going to save each other...

This Shadowheart rejected everything she knew. She was scared to defy her goddess, but worked up the courage- thanks to you. She thought you would have a new life together. She believed in you. She thought she would get to return the favor, and help you turn the page on Bhaal, too.

She's not just heartbroken for herself; she's heartbroken for you, too. Heartbroken at the life you denied both her and yourself.

Gale:

You made me want to live...

From the moment the orb entered Gale's chest, he knew he was at risk of dying. Then Mystra all but marked him as a dead man walking. But despite that, he finds love with you- and for the first time thinks maybe there is a purpose for him beyond Mystra. That he isn't more useful to the world dead. More than that, he wants to live to be with you, to enjoy your company and companionship. And then you kill him, and do the one thing WORSE than what would have happened if he'd never been pulled from that rock.

It almost would have been kinder to just hack his hand off the first time you met him, though Gale may or may not agree.

Spawn Astarion:

I should have killed you when I had the chance...

The angriest, most bitter response out of all the romanced companions, a step beyond Karlach's "fuck you." This is beyond "fuck you" and even beyond "I hate you." It's "I regret every moment I spent with you." You made him believe he could have better. That he could recover from what Cazador did. You even convinced him to spare the 7,000 spawn and that he could be something better than Cazador.

And now you reveal it was all a lie. Astarion is probably thinking that you talked him out of completing the ritual solely so he'd be easier to kill right here and now. How many regrets are flashing through his mind, how many moments where he wonders if things could have been different if only he'd done this or that, even aside from killing you?

All he wanted was to live as a free person. And then the first time he thinks he has that at last, he loses it as the world ends.

Ascended Astarion:

No... no, this can't be... I can't- you can't- no...

In contrast to spawn Astarion, ascended isn't angry, because he doesn't have the clarity, the ability to process what's happening. Spawn Astarion could tell he'd been betrayed.

But Ascended? Ascended, who went through so much to become one of the most powerful beings in the world, only to STILL lose without fanfare? And by you, his own spawn who he thought he had under his control? It isn't betrayal, because he is bluescreening; he can't comprehend what happened or how or why. How could he have been killed, and by you of all people? Was all he went through killing Cazador really for nothing? How could it be when he was supposed to be the most powerful? Was power actually meaningless all along?

He doesn't say anything of substance because he can't understand what's happening here.

Halsin:

Thaniel... goodbye...

Halsin is the oldest of all the companions. He's experienced the most loss of anyone; his birth family, his fellow Druids, and, for a time, Thaniel. He has had more than enough time to contemplate his own mortality, because he's already lived multiple lifetimes.

So here, two things are happening. One, he isn't expressing anger or betrayal at his murder- because he is more than wise enough, and humble enough, to understand that there are worse things than what has been done to himself. Instead of himself, he is thinking of the world he's leaving behind that is about to fall- and most of all, of his most important person, the one who gave him a purpose, who was there when no one else was, who he failed once and only just got back. The closest thing to a child he'll ever have. In his last moments, instead of himself, Halsin is thinking of those he loves.

And second, it's an almost deliberate snubbing of Durge. He willingly walked into that kiss, knowing full well it would be the last thing he ever did. He gave you his death, he pleaded with his own god to forgive you and him both. He gave you everything he felt he owed you, and no more- no begging or sobbing. Instead, he comes as close as he ever gets to selfishness, and spends his last moments thinking about the thing that makes him the happiest- which could have been you, in another life, if you hadn't done this.

Minthara:

No... we were meant to do this together...

Heartbreak, disbelief, and betrayal. You spent so many nights planning this out. She had been cast aside by her people, her goddess, and she was going to get the last laugh. She was going to crush them personally under her heel and prove she was the best (or second best, behind you) of all of them. She's devastated she won't get to help you torture all those souls and take what she feels was owed to her. But interestingly enough... no anger. Probably because it was overshadowed by the sheer heartbreak, but also a sign that even in those moments, she still admires you for your ruthlessness.

[luveline]

Hi, if you have time and any interest, would you write bombshell!reader comforting Spencer after the Maeve arc? Like maybe she’s the only one he lets in, and she just holds him and lets him cry and puts him first.

Will totally understand if you’d rather not/don’t reply!

ty for requesting!! <3 —You come home from months away to find Spencer in love and grieving, so you do what you can. fem, 2k

You didn’t expect Spencer to fall in love while you were gone, but you can’t begrudge him. Not for having feelings for someone who isn’t you, and certainly not for losing her. 

You love him, and you’re his friend first. 

Your shoes make sharp but steady sounds on the stairs up to his apartment. His building is old but not rundown, lacquered wooden bannister smooth under your hand, his front door immaculate, though the hallway is busy with baskets. There’s ribbon and cellophane everywhere. It’s a sorry sight. 

You haven’t brought Spencer anything besides dinner. Unlike yourself, you take in the offerings of his friends and worry you aren’t as caring as you think you are. 

Not that he seems in the mood to accept it. 

You look down at your mary jane’s and wonder if you’re doing any of this stuff right. Spencer doesn’t even know you’re back in the country, let alone the state. Perhaps he has no interest in seeing you after this long apart, and after such a tragedy. Who wants to see their too flirty friend when they’ve just lost a real love? 

You hike the tote up your shoulder. In a chequered skirt and a simple white t-shirt, you’re underdressed. The pasta you’d made and hurriedly wrapped up burns your hip where the bag rests against you, and you have to make a choice now. Let it burn you, standing and staring morosely at Spencer’s door, or face rejection. 

You only need to hear his voice. He can leave your pasta out here on the floor if he likes. What’s important is that he’s still alive in there. 

You knock on the door. 

Nothing. Complete silence. 

Nudging aside a basket of dried fruits, you try again. A simple rat-tat-tat. 

“Hey, Spencer?” you ask too quietly. 

He won’t hear you through the door. Your voice might as well be a whisper if he’s in his bedroom with the door closed. 

“Spencer, are you okay, my love?” you ask, louder.

You wince at yourself. My love couldn’t be more raw. 

“Sweetheart, I’m just here to see if you’re okay,” you say, knocking again, before leaving your hand to rest on the door. You lean forward, forehead kissing dark wood. 

You can’t hear anything on the other side. 

“Spencer,” you say with a reluctant swallow, “if you’re home, can you tell me? You don’t have to let me in. Just come to the door.” 

Penelope said he hasn’t texted her back for days. Derek said he’d answered the phone once or twice, but beyond that he’s silent. You had a nightmare on the plane home that you’d come back to find him as he’s found his poor girl, or that he’d turn to old vices, or that he’d finally give up. He’s been strong through every horrible thing thrown his way, and now he’s all alone again—

The door opens slowly. You stand up straighter, your surprise a whack to the chest as your heartbeat picks up. 

Spencer stands at the door. He looks more tired than you’ve ever seen him, his dark circles bruised like wine stains under his eyes, even his eyelids red and sore looking. His lips are almost colourless, they're so chapped, and his pyjama pants have deep, deep wrinkles at the knees. 

“Hi,” you say. “Spencer, how are you?” 

His voice rings with disuse. “You’re here.” 

“Came straight home when they told me,” you say softly, honestly. “I knew I had to see you. To make sure you’re okay.” 

“I’m not okay.” 

“I know.” You don’t know if it’s okay to ask to come in, if he’ll close the door at the suggestion, so you don’t. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” You put weight in the wrong places, too much on I’m, not enough on so. “I can’t imagine it. I would never wish this for you, never.” 

“You were in Brazil.” 

“I was.” 

He must be tired of people asking if he’s okay, yet it wants to be asked. You bite it down, and instead offer what may be the key to getting in, or a quick dismissal. 

“I made dinner for you, angel,” you say. You choose the pet name more carefully. He used to call you angel to make you feel better. “It’s just pasta, I tried not to make it too heavy in case you're nauseous.” 

“I feel so sick,” he says. 

Spencer’s curse is that he probably knows why he feels sick, and he probably knows a hundred different remedies or medications or prayers to get rid of it, but nothing can get rid of this feeling. You can be the smartest man alive and you’ll never outfox grief. 

“Will you come in?” he asks.

You breathe a short, unbidden sigh of relief. He steps aside to let you in, and you gaze around at his shock of mess, books and blankets and furniture all in the wrong places, but it’s to be expected, and it doesn’t bother you beyond that empathetic hum of hurt tucked under your ribs. You approach his couch covered in books and put your tote bag atop them, turning to tell Spencer you’ll just quickly move these aside, and stopping dead when you see him. The door closed, his face pale, Spencer looks like everything is crumbling down around him. He looks horrified to have to watch, and he looks as sick as he’d confessed. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” you say, meaning it at its surface value. You’re sorry you were in a different country while he faced this alone. Beyond everything you’ve shared, you’re supposed to be his friend, and in a way you’ve let him down. “Please forgive me if you can, Spencer.” 

He nods tightly. 

“Let me move some of this stuff and we can sit down together, is that okay? Or do you need to go back to bed?” 

“It’s okay.” 

You do it without the grace his precious books deserve, lugging armfuls of them onto the floor, no time for tidying. You make spacious room for him and you, and your gesture gently for him to come and sit, fingers moving through the air slowly with the suggestion; he doesn’t have to listen if he doesn’t want to. 

What is it about you that Spencer would let you in before anyone else? That he’d sit and watch you until you sat down, that his shoulders relax ever so slightly when you settle, your thighs aligned? 

Maybe he needs someone who wasn’t there to watch it happen, and maybe you’re like family. You and Spencer may not be in love, but you love one another. Seeing him like this has you wishing you could fix it for him so keenly it’s like your hands are bruised. Pins and needles eat your fingers as you hold a hand to his elbow. 

“What can I do?” you ask, murmuring so as not to disturb the quiet room. 

“Nothing, I’m sorry. I don’t have anything for you to do, I just…” He squeezes his eyes closed. “I just wanted to see you. You’re the only person who– who–”

His voice lifts to a strangled high pitch as he covers his eyes with one hand. 

“Can I give you a hug?” you ask. 

He nods into his hand but doesn’t move. You have no qualms with making yourself big, wrapping him up, and guiding his hand away from his scrunched up face to hold you back. 

You’re pretty pristine with hugs, as they go. You’re a soft touch. So Spencer holds you tightly and you cradle the back of his head, aware that you’re not who he really wants to be hugging, but okay with it nonetheless. “I’m so sorry,” you say, mouth to the top of his head, your hand stroking with light touches against the nape of his neck. “Spencer, it’s not fair.” 

He starts shaking in your arms. 

“The only time I got to talk to her face to face was with a gun to her head,” he says, his eye hot where it’s squished to the bottom of your cheek. 

“Honey, you had something special,” you say, sort of guessing, because you had no idea Spencer was even talking to someone. Everything you know about the situation you learned from Hotch, but you can read from his level of distress how much she meant to him. “You don’t need to have been face to face to have shared something like that. Love is about connection, and I’m so sorry you don’t get to see her, but you– I’m sorry. You didn’t get all the time you deserved.” 

You’d been trying to say that it doesn’t matter if he saw her or not, that their relationship was just as real no matter what, but you know he’s not just mourning her, but the possibility of a life with her he won’t get now. 

“I tried everything I had to save her,” he says. 

“I know you did. Sometimes we can’t do anything. It’s not your fault.” 

He makes a low sound. He’s a quiet crier, sniffling and shaking against your neck. 

You love him. Finding out he had a girlfriend was like being stabbed in the chest, an instant sickness, but finding out that she died? To see him in this much pain cuts deeper than a split second of thinking he’d moved on. 

“You did everything you could. You did the best that you could. Spencer, you could’ve done everything right and she still wouldn’t have made it, because the world is cruel. This isn’t your fault.” 

“It’s always gonna be my fault,” he says. 

“No, it won’t be.” 

“It will! I’m like a curse, we all are.” 

You don’t know what to say. You consider offering placatives, but they’d be empty, and Spencer would know. Instead, you scratch a hand through his curls and try your best to be gentle. 

“Well, I’m here for you. I know you know you have a whole team of people who want to be there for you, but I mean it, Spence. You can tell me everything. I’m here for you and I’m not leaving again.” 

“You don’t have to go back?” 

“I’m staying here.” For as long as you need me goes unsaid. 

Spencer should rely on the kindness of all of his friends, and not just you. He needs love. Grief is going to eat him alive, just like it did with Emily; he’ll need everything from everyone, and, no offence to your friends and coworkers, you’re the most committed to giving it to him. 

“I never should’ve left,” you say quietly, “but things are different now. You’re my best friend, Dr. Reid.” Your tone turns more playful. “I don’t cook for just anybody, you know?” 

Maybe it’s a bit cringeworthy, but you really want him to stop crying. 

He laughs weakly and wetly into your collar. “I don’t think I can eat it. I just throw everything back up.” 

Aw, honey, you think. “How about a thin soup? I can make you something without any heavy creams. I make the best chicken soup around.” 

“Do you?” he asks. 

You want to kiss his cheek as you would’ve before you left, but things really are different now. You settle for patting his shoulder. “I do. We’ll have chicken soup, and some fresh bread, and– and you won’t have to pretend you aren’t miserable. Promise. You can be as sad as you want, honey, I just wanna sit with you and make sure it doesn’t get too much.” 

“Thank you,” he mumbles. 

“It’s okay.” You don’t want a thank you. “I’m glad to be home. Do you think you can get dressed? Let’s go get some stuff for dinner.” 

Spencer, to your relief, gets up to get changed without complaint. He checks you’re still on the couch a few times from the doorway of his room. You have no plans on straying far. 

[pellucid-constellations]

To Feel At Home

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Winnowing out from Under the Mountain, you know you need to find him—it doesn't seem real, to feel so at home.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Angst

a/n: A little angsty piece because I can't stop writing for some reason. I hope you enjoy :)

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

On shaking legs, you pressed forward. Rhysand was still at the Moonstone Palace—still in Mor’s arms and coping with the impossible. You had made to stay, but Mor had given you a shake of her head that conveyed more than any words could have.

Mustering up the morsel of power that had returned to you after Amarantha’s death, you winnowed to Velaris. 

Not in a good spot. You hadn’t had access to your power in over five decades and much of Rhysand’s wards were still in place. Given the circumstances, getting yourself to some random alley at the edge of Velaris was a feat. 

The sun was blinding, invading your senses that had gotten so used to the darkness Under the Mountain. You brought a hand up to cover your eyes and trekked on.

No more winnowing. 

You had tried—it hadn’t worked. 

As you walked, stumbling through families taking strolls and having normal days, you searched within you for that golden thread. It had been absent for longer than it had been alive, your time as mates barely reaching a decade before your disappearance. 

You sifted through the pain and grief and loneliness, desperate for the relief you would find once you felt the weight of him. 

Nothing yet. 

He had to know things had changed Under the Mountain. Even amidst the secrecy and the hiding, you knew he would check.  His shadows would cross continents to find you. 

But—you stressed, as you made it to a main road lined with cobblestones—that could mean he went there. Azriel could be under that mountain at this very moment, searching through the fae still sorting out their lives before they went home. 

And you were here. 

You had no reason to panic. 

You were home, safe, alive; you had more reason to feel at peace than you had in the last 50 years. But if Azriel wasn’t here… 

Your breath came out in short pants as your fingers found purchase on a wall. But you kept going, kept watching your feet as they stumbled past each other, just to have the chance of seeing him. 

There were no shadows yet. 

They always found you first. 

You weren't sure how much time had passed—seconds, minutes, hours all lost their meaning under Amarantha—but the shadow of the mountain that held your home was soon cast over your body. You gasped out uneven breaths and pressed a hand to the towering figure, to the entrance that held the ten thousand steps you had every intention of climbing. 

Your body would surely fail. 

The last five decades had not been kind. 

With a determination fueled solely by desperation and hope, you began the tunneled pathway to the harrowing climb, but then you stopped at the entryway. 

A broken rendition of your name met your ears, so cracked and ruined you could have passed it off for something else. 

But you knew that voice, the way the vowels flowed and connected. 

Another broken sound permeated the air, this time from your own lips. 

You couldn’t look. You wanted to, ached to, but you couldn’t. So much anticipation led up to this moment. And you were different now, a fraction of the person you had been all those years ago. 

“Y/n, my love, look at me,” Azriel begged, the lowest you’d ever heard him speak. But you hadn’t heard him speak in so long, so perhaps you were misremembering. “Please.” 

You couldn’t. 

Moving was impossible. 

Your legs began to shake at the sound of footsteps, and then your knees gave out. 

A loud sound vibrated against the tunnel walls as your hands slapped against the floor. On the ground, steps away from the only person who could fix this, your waterline filled with tears. 

But you didn’t have time to second-guess or run or wonder if this was all too much. You were gathered into a strong pair of arms, pressed into a firm chest that smelled like home, and tears made paths down your cheeks. They flowed in damp trails in silence, Azriel holding you closer and closer until you weren’t sure space existed between you. 

His nose pressed into your hair. 

His chest rose and fell in uneven patterns. 

More silence. You felt your body begin to rock gently back and forth. 

This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be. 

You had resigned yourself to never seeing him again many years ago. Even as you ran through the streets of Velaris without your breath or your reasonable mind, you hadn’t expected to find him. This was a dream, Azriel wasn’t here, it was only a cruel play on your mind. 

Someone was trying to hurt you, and it was working. 

Maybe Amarantha had finally gotten Rhys to crack. 

Maybe this was his doing, his manipulation of your deepest hopes. 

Something was moving against your ear, soft and rushed and incoherent. A hand smoothed back your hair. You kept rocking. 

“You’re okay.” Words filtered through ringing. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here.” 

Over and over. On a loop. 

Something encased you. Darkness followed—you were used to darkness. 

The pattern of the words lulled your heart back to a normal rate. Tears continued to fall. Your breath was shaky. 

“I love you so much,” Azriel broke the repetition, shocking your system. “I love you. I love you—” 

A sob wracked your body, the first real sound to leave your mouth. Azriel shushed you in response, but when he buried his face in your neck you felt the wetness of his own cheeks. 

This had to be real, it had to. There was no other alternative. You wouldn't survive feeling this way just to be thrust back into that nightmare. 

It had to be real, it had to—

“It is,” Azriel choked out. He pulled back, your face in his hands, his expression conveying a picture of pain and love and disbelief. “It’s real, angel. Gods, you’re so beautiful. I never thought I’d—” Words cut off and restarted. “I tried so hard to get to you.” 

His forehead met yours. 

This was real. 

You felt the shadows wisp along your skin. 

You could never feel them in dreams. 

“I missed you,” you croaked, voice so unused to the words. “So much.” 

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut only to open them after not even a breath. Desperate not to lose sight of you. Anguished at the thought of missing the picture of you in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you more.”