#ur parent could die any day

[obsidianstrawberrymilk]

Jesus fuck why does no one talk about how Donna got married to a guy who knew her since she was seventeen/at most freshly eighteen when he was almost thirty and then he didn’t het her see their kid (who he was then responsible for the death of) like What The Actual Fuck.

[chloe-petrichors]

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins. 

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers.  “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

[dadsbongos]

do u think u could write some of ur own personal headcanons for laios? i love the way u write him, it seems almost canon!

anon you dont know what fire youre messing with

also thank yew hehe :>

general headcanons:

Laios likes babysitting but does NOT want to be a real papa, he adores the idea of being the Cool And Strange Uncle but just imagining having to raise a whole person from scratch terrifies him

Usually conks out as soon as his head hits the pillow and he’s a damn heavy sleeper, he strikes me as someone that gets the dad snore when he’s a bit older

Likes doing physical activity in the moment, maintaining his stamina/strength n whatnot. But HAAATES the aftermath, he will not stop bitching about how gross he feels when sweaty

People scare him but I think men specifically scare him more than women because he mainly associates “men” with his old boarding school and military peers and his dad. Meanwhile the most callous woman he’s personally dealt with is like. his mom… who wasn’t particularly menacing and he doesn’t seem to resent her as much as he does his father

Most definitely called Chilchuck “chil” in their early days together and got his nuts sacked for the unintentional disrespect

Doesn’t drink often because the taste bugs him but when he does decide to, he drinks to get drunk. So it has to be a special occasion

The type of older brother to tell Falin food fills up your body from your feet to your head and when you’re full to your head you die

modern headcanons:

Definitely the type to unironically use little emoticons like :) or :] but his favorites are the cute ones like :3 , ^.^ , and :0

Would’ve played barbies with Falin as a kid and enjoyed it more than Falin did lol

If he were out with the group (marcille would have to threaten his life though, he would HATE “going out”) and Marcille or Falin deferred to him to deal with creepy men he’d feel like a superhero about it

Borderline mandated to have a high impact phone case by Falin because he’s GOT to be dropping that shit all the time. I just know it (projecting)

Would probably dislike resident evil as a series but thinks the premises are cool

Bouncing off that: he’s a big Undertale and Deltarune fan (definitely had a thing for Toriel at some point and probably thought sans was kind of overrated). Has ambivalent feelings towards fear & hunger, likes the atmosphere and item preservation and monsters but the assault scenes and overt brutalism ick him out from recommending it

Would go his whole life without an autism diagnosis until eventually held at metaphorical gunpoint by his friends, just for his parents to go “oh yeah we had you tested as a kid but didn’t want you using it as a crutch”

If monsters weren’t real he’d be cryptid autistic just so everyone’s on the same page

Cryptids major and ocean creatures minor type autism

I don’t think he’s straight by any measure but before he has the Realization, he’s the epitome of the girls gays and coleman meme

Segue omg: he has no desire to think more about his sexuality or gender than “i feel x” or “i choose y”. I think he identifies as Man(TM) but in a “its harder to explain i want to be a bog” way. If you referred to him with feminine pronouns or called him “girl” he seriously wouldn’t give a shit 

nsfw(?) headcanons:

Could never do casual, you would have to be committed or only know each other VERY distantly and only do it once. His ass wouldn’t know how to read your relationship if you were trying to do friends with benefits (he’s also very concerned with hurting people’s feelings so just the notion of accidentally doing that to someone he’s intimate with would kill him)

May seem strange coming from a bitch always talkin about fucking him, but I think Laios would actually have kind of a lower sex drive. Like he maybe doesn’t get needy very often but also isn’t NOT in the mood, so if you proposition him and he’s into you he’ll be like “okie :3”

That being said, when he does feel needy he’s NEEDY. It’s debilitating, he genuinely can’t do or think of anything else until his poor wee is taken care of :( poor guy aww

I can see him being a virgin until his early-mid 20s and having no shame about it (good for him go king, virginity is nothing to be ashamed of it literally doesn’t matter)

Also by virgin i mean rice purity test score of like 97

Swears he doesn’t like having his cock worshipped (says its weird and embarrassing) but he’s so flustered n drooly and babbles the whole time

Biter 

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

day 2: party - @lautski-week

get it.,, like a..,,.,,, dnd party.,.,.,..,,

i straight up gasped when i realized i could use this as an excuse to talk about my lautski dnd au, so, if ur interested im gonna go feral about it below the cut:

steph: half-elven fighter

solomon lauter is a deeply corrupt, incredibly magical high elven king whose maintained his rule through intense dealings with the pantheon of the lords in black

he married a human woman at some point in his rule and he does love her, at first, just not as much as his power

so when the lords in black make him promise to sacrifice her in the name of some deal, he's sort of upset but... obviously he's gonna do it, she was gonna die before him anyway, it's not like it's a huge deal to let her die a little early, his subjects will think it was a squishy human life span thing, bada bing bada boom, hands clean of the whole affair

BUT.... then his wife gets pregnant and has a Stephanie... which kinda fucks shit up because said Stephanie is still fucking there after his wife has been sacrificed

he hates her, partially because she's a half-elf and partially because of what she represents, and she hates him, which results in her having very few boundaries because he doesn't want to deal with her

she's still a princess, and she's surrounded by high elves who think she's stupid and inferior because she's only a half elf and she has very little magical prowess, so it's not exactly ideal circumstances even with her extra freedoms

so she learns to punch things

because if people are dicks she can't outwit them but she can deck them

eventually the lords in black offer another trade with her dad where he can trade her for extra magic, but mostly it's just a test to prove his loyalty and he is honestly more than happy to get rid of her

except steph gets wind of it (because she's generally close with the kind of people who fucking hate the king/don't get treated with enough respect for people to not gossip around them) and she runs the fuck away

so now she's being chased down by her father who is facing pressure from the libs for not making the sacrifice, all the while experiencing actual respect and freedom for the first time from her party members

pete: teifling warlock-wizard multiclass

so you know that post thats like it's ethically ambiguous but you can hand off any cursed object to a baby? that's pete's whole thing in this kind of

ted, his full human older brother, was a intentional patron of tinky, who hadn't really thought it through and tried to get out of it by making a stupid promise and really just ended up dooming himself and his unborn brother (he felt really bad about it before he disappeared under mysterious circumstances, tho)

pete was born with a warlock pact to tinky (which was pretty obvious when his full human parents created a bright yellow teifling baby)

he hates tinky and is very uncomfortable and upset by the whole thing, so he multi classed into wizard shit when he was, like, eleven

tinky actively attempts to prevent him from gaining levels in wizard

he lies about being only a wizard and has spent years coming up for excuses about why a lot of his 'wizard spells' are very specifically warlock ones if someone asks (literally no one has ever noticed or questioned it)

because he was born with the pact bond tinky's hold over him is way stronger, and if he really submits (when shit gets super bad) tinky can take over his body and puppet him into doing some fucked up violent shit

he is truly treated like SHIT for being a teifling in his home town and it really minimizes a lot of his academic prospects, even though he's so smart, so part of the reason why he's traveling with his party is to try and find a real wizarding academy that will take him

(and one that can maybe help break his pact with tinky)

Bonus:

Ruth: human rouge who desperately wants to be a bard, but she's too nervous to perform and ironically, tragically hiding the fuck out in the shadows comes a lot easier

Richie: firbolg artificer -- he's pretty bad with the magical aspects of anything, but he builds a lot of cool ass machinery to make up for it (even if, god, hes SO upset by how bad he is at magic)

Grace: High Elven Cleric who WILL become a fucked up little warlock to the lords in black eventually (she is from steph's kingdom and followed her when she ran away to 'protect her'. Steph has been trying to shake her this whole time)

[niningtori]

Hi nini! I'm a silent lurker hehe i've been reading your fics and absolutely love them! Idk if you're down to writing some arranged marriage trope with beomgyu or soobin? I think it fits them a lot :< this is just an idea, would really love to read one from your perspective! You write so beautifully ♡

should have known better | preview I

beomgyu should have known better. he knows his parents think of him as little more than a pawn in their never-ending game of monopoly, and he knows that if he ever strays from the suffocating mold that they force him to shrink himself into, they will cut him off without a sliver of hesitation. he also knows he can’t really do anything about that, either, but that doesn’t make him any less surprised when they tell him that not only will he be marrying the person of their choice, but that choice is you.

you’re not the worst person beomgyu has ever met, but you’re certainly not his favorite. how could he possibly have feelings for someone as vapid and seemingly inconsequential as you? you talk during important meetings with your equally as silly friends, your wild nights out are plastered on every tabloid in the country nearly every week, and you have no problem with trying to blow the fortune your daddy has so graciously decided to continue supplying you with even in the face of your many, many indiscretions. you’re so stupid and so spoiled, he’s surprised your doting father even agreed to subjugating you to this sham of a marriage. well, he guesses even the most spoiled of brats are just chess pieces to their parents at the end of the day.

beomgyu should know better than to refuse his parents, and he does — he really, really does, but as he sits with his family and your own during an almost cartoonishly extravagant dinner at his place, he finds that he just can’t take it anymore. they're going over numbers and figures — you know, the logistics of this prospective marriage — and you just smile and nod along with every new point. you even take to giggling when his father boasts about the potential profits, and it’s like even the vows “til death do us part” would earn a snicker from you. do you not understand how serious this is? you’re about to be chained to him for life, so how could you laugh at a time like this? if he didn’t know your life has been nothing but sunshine and rainbows since birth, he certainly knows now. he’d rather die than be promised to someone like you forever. no way in hell.

notes: hi honey! i love this idea, but i've genuinely never really thought about it in much detail until now. thank u for the suggestion and ur very sweet words! and yeaaah this one is gonna be angsty but what else is new...

if u would like to join the taglist for this work, pls lmk! if you would like to join any of my other taglists, including my permanent one, join here!

[midnight-pluto]

First time trying out an event

Fandom: PJO/HOO

Trope: Comfort/Hurt, Angst

AU: Riordanverse

Style: One-shot

How about a Percy Jackson x mortal gn!reader who can see through the mist where Percy hears about a prophecy of how he must lose (death or just leave him) his s/o for a quest, and in trying to find ways on how to stop it, ends up not giving reader any attention or care that they break up and possibly die or just leave.

(sorry if it's too confusing, you can change parts of it to your writing style)

NO ESCAPE — percy j.

TROPES: fluff, angst, comfort/hurt

UNIVERSE: canon-ish

PAIRING(S): percy jackson x gn!reader

WARNING(S): set place after pjo and before hoo, talks of trauma and PTSD and death

A/N: it’s been a while since I’ve written for the pjo fandom so I hope I did ur idea justice

“NO,” PERCY DEADPANS, looking Rachel. “I refuse to believe that this prophecy is about me and Y/N. Absolutely not, the gods have fucked up my life enough - I am not allowing it to happen, again.”

“Percy my prophecy’s haven’t failed to be true,” Rachel replies, feeling remorse for the boy in front of her.

“No, see, remember? Remember the prophecy where you thought it was me who was the hero but it was actually,” Percy swallowed hard to mention his former friend, “Luke.

“Maybe it’ll happen but it still doesn’t mean it applies to me and Y/N.”

“Percy the fates are inescapable. You can’t cheat them, you can’t trick them, you can’t escape them,” Rachel sternly tell before speaking a tired and small, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s well- not okay, but it’s not your fault,” he sighed, burying his head in his hands. “I better find Y/N soon,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking out of the cave.

It was supposed to be just a fun, small, 3-day trip to camp due to it being spring break for him. But that turned out to be just another time where he was forced into serving the gods with zero thanks.

By the time Percy was informed of his fate, he didn’t have enough time to cope during his trip and was picked up by his mom, Paul, and you later that day.

“Percy! How was camp?” you smiled at the boy walking towards the three of you, running up to him and giving him a hug.

“It was alright,” he said blankly, continuing his walk to the car.

That made you pause - and not just because of the blank remark.

But because he didn’t hug you back.

You shot a worried look towards his parents automatically knowing something was off.

Paul was driving while Sally was sat in front so it was just you and Percy sitting in the back together. Normally, the car would be full of chatter with Percy rambling about whatever happened at camp while he was there while holding your hand.

This time though, there was no chatter, and there was no holding hands.

“So did anything exciting happen at camp?” Paul tried to break the stiffening silence, “Want to get to ice cream?”

“Nah, I’m not hungry,” Percy replied, eyes fixated out the window seemingly lost in thought.

To you it seemed that while you weren’t sharing loving touches with each other, you both still seemed to be sharing troubled thoughts and minds plagued with worry.

He wasn’t possessed - you’d know - and he was still himself; but not. What could’ve happened in the past three days that could’ve caused him to act like this?

You knew his dreams were ridden with trauma and flashbacks and sometimes a horrid future awaiting but he’d normally speak to you about such things. You could only hope if it were such a case he’d talk to you about it soon.

IT SEEMED THAT soon couldn’t come soon enough. Spring break had already passed, and it’s been a near month and Percy has barely spoken to you throughout it at all.

Percy on the other hand felt at his absolute worst.

Well, that was of course an exaggeration but knowing the fate of the relationship you have is still really terrible.

It wasn’t his intention to distance himself from you, it’s just something he did subconsciously - a desperate attempt to preserve what was already made.

“Percy?” his mother knocked on his door, “I brought you cookies.”

“Thanks, uh, can I talk to you about something?” Percy asked, taking the plate of cookies and placing them on his bedside.

“Yes of course you can,” Sally smiled, and shut the door to sit on the edge of his bed.

“When- when I was at camp I of course had the fortune of being part of a prophecy… again,” Percy inhaled a sharp breath, “And it was about me and Y/N and- Rachel said that I was gonna lose them and I just- I don’t want that.”

“Oh Percy,” she frowned pulling her son into a hug, rubbing his back softly as his tears spilled onto her shirt.

“And I don’t want them to die- they don’t deserve that, not because of me,“ he muttered.

“Percy, listen to me,” Sally gently pushed him away to look at him in his eyes, using her sleeves to wipe away his tears, “What matters isn’t in the future, but now. Regardless if you’re going to lose Y/N, make the best memories to look back on when they’re gone. That’s the meaning of life - to cherish it, and the limited time you have here with everyone you’ve ever met.”

Percy nodded at his mother words, smiling to himself at the thought of spending more time with you. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” she softly tussled his hair, “Now I’m going to set something up between the two of you to go hang out tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” he smiles, wiping away his own tears.

“Make sure to eat those cookies,” Sally reminded before shutting his door with a soft click.

YOU TOOK IN a deep inhale before angering the small café Sally had arranged you and Percy to meet. Prepared to face him with a look of defeat on his face you open the doors, and see him sitting in the back with a cup of hot chocolate warming his hands.

But he didn’t look sad like all the other times you tried to talk to him, he didn’t look dismissive, he looked like himself. He looked like Percy.

Seeing the face you had come to love the past year return didn’t make your heart flutter as it used to however. One of the only reminders of your true intentions behind accepting the invitation.

Walking over to the table, you take the seat across him and give him a small smile that you could muster.

“You’re not gonna order anything?” Percy asked, head tilted towards the chalkboard’s beautifully written on displaying the menu.

“No, I don’t feel like it,” you shook your head, “Um, Percy I just wanted to talk to you and I’m sorry.”

Percy could feel his heart drop the moment you said those words. His head kept on making up words and phrases of what you were going to say next - anything but what he knew you were going to say.

“I just don’t think we’re going to work out,” you spoke in a soft and gentle tone, “I don’t regret the time spent with you, but it would be better if we no longer saw each other. Romantically, at least.”

It took every once ounce of Percy’s body to spill out tears from the corners of his eyes but he managed to choke out, “I understand.”

“Thank you, for everything Percy,” you hung your head low, beating yourself up for hurting the boy in front of you who had already been through so much, “I hope to see you around.”

And just like that, you exit the café as Percy’s eyes trail your figure from the window until you disappeared around the block. It doesn’t take long for the nearest fire hydrant to burst open, water spewing out when his eyes couldn’t.

A/N: did I manage to make you guys feel something? also, my 200 follower event is currently ongoing so please feel free to request!!

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXIX. “uncanny valley”

parts: previous / next

plot: you and Bruce dance around the horrors of the weekend, desperate to make things right—or, at least, better.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, angst, mental health issues, descriptions of violence, descriptions of injury, grief, anxiety

words: 6.1k

prev. chapter summary (XXVIII): You go to Wayne Tower on Saturday night to talk to Alfred about ways to get Bruce help. Alfred is hopeless. Bruce intercepts, bitter at your intrusiveness, and storms off. You call Dr. Crane, who tells you to refrain from following him for fear of escalating the argument. On your walk home, you run into a panicked, horrified Bruce in an abandoned alley near his house. He does not recognize you, and after calling Alfred for him to be picked up, Bruce begs Alfred not to tell his parents about him being out so late. After a brief heartfelt (and teary) conversation with Alfred, where he expressed thanks and reassured you were not making things worse (as you thought, and still think), you went home. The next day, Bruce has no recollection of the night before, brought up to speed by Alfred. At Alfred’s urging, Bruce visits your apartment on Sunday, begging you to see his side. The argument becomes heated, and, convinced by Dr. Crane’s horrifying prognosis for Bruce and his own erratic, dangerous behavior, you do a last hail-mary to get him help: you lie about being the person who saw Bruce jump, expressing how terrified you were at thinking you’d watched him die. This immediately triggers Bruce to his childhood, and he does a hard reset on his denial, horrified he’s repeating the cycle, reassuring you he will accept help.

Outside of receiving some calls, you hadn't checked your phone since Thursday night. Texts, socials, it had all been abandoned trying to remove the noose snaking Bruce's neck. After the phone call with Alfred you were able to relax into bed and pull out your phone—immediately smacked by a bazillion texts from Mar, a few from your parents, and some mentions on Scypher. You clicked on Mar's texts first.

Thursday, 11:50pm: OMGGG just now seeing thissss i got so lit tonight. sorry!! idk if i can make it to help you move. def can't drive in the morning tho!!! ttys!!!

Friday, 1:20am: ok lolz i went to a second club 2nite and yahhh i don't think i can make it 2morrowww

Friday, 12:30pm: if ur still in town i could help, i just got a massive headache hahaha have you left yet

Friday, 1:22pm: ur prob on the road byeee

Friday, 1:30pm: wait ur still in Gotham??

Today, 12:58pm: BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!! you didn't tell me you did the interview with him!! like actually!!!!!!! okayyyy too famous to respond to me I see? i'll make sure to visit to get your autograph lol.

Today, 2:15pm: bro i got so many more friend requests already today???? some are Bruce Wayne fan accounts. wtf!!!??? this is like blowing up

Today, 6:15pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:16pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:18pm: LOOK !!!!

She'd attached a Buzzfeed article titled: Bruce Wayne's First Interview Came Out Today, and Our Jaws (and Clothes) are on the Floor

You couldn't read any further though, seeing as you had a handful of texts from your parents to sort through.

Friday, 1:45pm: Hey hunny! Your mother and I are home from the second shot. She told me to text you 'I am fine'. We will call you this evening after I finish up the deck.

Friday, 6:37pm: MISSED CALL FROM DAD.

Friday, 6:40pm: Deck done. When you visit next I'll show you. Walter likes it. Love you

Today, 3:13pm: MISSED CALL FROM MOM.

Today, 3:20pm: Hi kiddo. Wow! Congratulations on the article! Debbie showed it to us when she visited earlier. I thought you said you were done with that guy. Love you sweety!

You responded to your dad about your mom, and your mom about the article. You refused to comment on her mention of Bruce, wanting to purge your mind as much as you were able to after the weekend you'd had. You resigned to calling her first thing in the morning, miserable over forgetting about her second shot. After responding to Mar to update her on staying (and to express faux excitement about the article's release), you stayed up a few more minutes to see if your parents might still be awake and responsive. Sleep.

You woke up late that day, around two in the afternoon; the only reason you hadn't slept even longer was a phone call from Dr. Vry startling you awake. "Y/N! Have you seen your article? I can't believe it. Over a hundred applications just TODAY to the journalism program!"

You fought your way through the conversation, the gears in your head finally harnessing enough energy to start worrying again. The call ended quickly, as she 'had a lot of applications to get through', and you called your mom without a second glance at your phone notifications.

"Hey sweetie. I saw your text last night, but I couldn't respond. Walter was finally curled up in my lap, you know how sensitive he is." She sounded fine, neither ecstatic nor miserable. Her energy picked up when she started talking about your article. "Your dad was looking into that Wayne guy, and ran across that article of yours. He didn't know it was you that wrote it until Debbie brought it over!"

You'd padded out to your kitchen to make some toast with the butt of the bread. "Since when is dad researching things about Gotham?"

"He's been very intrigued ever since graduation. He—"

Your dad sounded off in the background. "Hun? Hey! I saw that article of yours! His first interview ever. That's a big family, you know. The Waynes. It's a big deal sweetie!"

He continued without leaving space for you to change the topic. "You know about his parents, right? God, poor kid. Seems to have recovered from it well enough."

You stifled a laugh at him delivering the most famous lore of Gotham city like it was breaking news. "Yeah, I know about his parents."

"You know, I knew I sensed something between you two. When's he coming to visit?" You heard a meow in the background, and you could only imagine your dad was munching on some sandwich he desperately wanted.

"Dad,"

"People don't give their first interviews to just anyone. Must've really impressed him."

"He's never coming over, dad."

"You don't have to be embarrassed honey. He seems like a stand-up guy! Next visit, bring him."

"It sounds like you want to meet him." You rubbed your temples, having temporarily abandoned your peanut butter spreading. You didn't know if you were right, but you could've sworn you heard him shaking his head. Walter meowed again. He definitely had some sort of food in his hand.

"What kind of dad would I be if I weren't excited to meet my daughter's boyfriend?"

The juxtaposition of the past few days to his chipper, nonchalant demeanor was stark, reducing you to a teary mess. No, you wanted to snap at him. I actually visited him in a psych ward. Had to stop his future from becoming a funeral.

"Hey, whoa now..." Your mom spoke in a hushed, frustrated tone in the background. "I'm sorry sweetie. I get it. I won't talk about him anymore."

You continued to cry, unable to get any words out. It was like you were finally able to feel the weight of what had been placed on you, feel the piercing stab of the fear it instilled. Your sobs were so pathetic and deep that your mom kept asking if you could breathe. It took much longer than you were comfortable with to even begin steadying, and when you did you knew it wouldn't last. You told them you had to get back to work, and that you'd see them in two weeks.

Vanity Fair. Vogue. People. Cosmopolitan. Us Weekly. Elle. Glamour. Seventeen. Marie Claire. Your eyes had fuzzed over as anxiety nestled into your gut. So this had been... this had been huge. 600 followers had turned into 13,000, and that was just on Scypher. Instagram had 300, now 6,500. So many mentions, so many comments, you started to panic even more. You tossed the phone across the bed and wrapped your arms around your body, rocking slowly back and forth, squeezing your arms so hard they began to ache. Flashbacks to Saturday night pulsed between your eardrums, projected on the back wall of your mind. You'd never seen someone so out of their element before. The image of him in the fetal position on the ground. The screaming. The nearly incomprehensible rattle in his voice. The stitches that bulged, the skin sloughed off his fingers. The blood. The sweat. The panic. Dread. Fear. Hysteria.

Your hands shook just the same as they fought to text Alfred. Your fingers garbled the message, but you couldn't handle another second without knowing if he was alive or dead. What if he'd taken the whole fucking bottle? What if he was on the floor of his bedroom, the last dregs of his functioning body procuring foamy spit out of his mouth for him to choke on? What if he flung himself off another building? His house was so fucking tall. So empty. So huge. So many places he wouldn't be seen, he wouldn't be found, so many places someone could hide if they needed, or wanted. What if he was strung up by his neck on a ceiling bar?

You shrieked in pain as waves of fear ravaged you. If it were real water you'd be swept under, and you wouldn't even fight it. The water would take away all your troubles, your worries, your fears. But he couldn't know that. They couldn't know what this was doing to you.

You set the phone down.

If he knew, he'd feel guilty. He couldn't feel guilty. Guilt would hurt him more. Guilt could push him over the edge.

Instead, you dialed Dr. Crane. He answered on the second ring, always so quick. "Y/N. I was about to call you. Before we get into it, why did you call?"

Anxiety lurched up into your chest, eager to overwhelm and incapacitate. "Get into what?"

Dr. Crane laughed, a discordant sound that chilled you. "To thank you. Whatever you did, it was successful. This is strictly confidential, but he is accepting treatment."

So he's alive? "I wanted to talk to you about that." You swallowed hard, yanking at a loose thread in your comforter. "I uh, he wasn't going to get help until I, until I lied."

"About what?" Dr. Crane's composure was always strictly maintained, and this time was no different. He never gave away his feelings. "I had to tell him I was the witness. I said I saw him jump."

"Oh."

That was quite possibly the worst thing he could've said.

"Well, that changes things."

"What things?"

"For one, that's a secret you must keep. Glad you clued me in." You heard a rustling of papers, a hushing of his tone. "Usually that would be unacceptable, but if we're both being honest," His candor was unsettling. "I have yet to see someone as deeply in denial as him accept treatment. I went to sleep fully anticipating waking to news of his passing." His tone was suddenly lighter, almost singsongy. "I can't say I'm disappointed in you."

You had no concept of how to respond to that. Guilt ulcerated your stomach and strangled your chest, but at least Bruce was breathing. After a silence that was too long, long enough you were surprised he hadn't yet hung up, you spoke. "Are we, are you, sure?" Words were having trouble finding you. "About the lying? I didn't see it, and what if the real witness,”

"There is nothing to be concerned about regarding the witness. Mr. Wayne has begun treatment, and will soon be stable. Incredible work."

"I—"

"You saved Bruce Wayne’s life, Y/N. It's only a shame it's a badge you can’t share." You could hear the smile in his tone, but you weren't happy. The reassurance you’d been seeking was far from assuring, leaving you situated in an uncanny valley of suspicion. How could he be so joyful? Why wasn't he drilling you about going to such lengths? Had it… had it really been that fucking hopeless? Anger boiled in you at the prospect of Dr. Crane knowingly sending you on a suicide mission. Before you burnt the bridge, you thanked him for the update and hung up. It took everything in you not to throw the phone against the wall.

The shower was scalding. You barely felt it. He must have thought he wouldn't make it. He seemed so fucking resolved to Bruce's death. Fully anticipating waking up to news of his passing? But there was 'nothing he could do'? Not a word of tangible advice besides 'don't go after him'. If I listened to him, who knows who would have found him out there! Would he have attempted again? You also wrestled with the uncomfortable reality that Dr. Crane had been correct; you had played a vital role in him accepting treatment. Had Dr. Crane psychoanalyzed you, deemed you the sort of person to lie if needed? Someone he could push to do things outside of personal liability? A sort of reverse hitman?

As you toweled off, your anxious mind continued its rumination. So he took meds. But did he take just one? Alfred will watch him, right? Hold onto his meds, only give him them as needed? Is he employing a system, making sure he checks under Bruce's tongue, locks the bathrooms, listens for retching, making sure the medication is accurately and genuinely consumed, as prescribed? You needed a break, but you couldn't find one. Sitting on the edge of your bed you knew you wouldn't be able to rest until you knew he was alive right now. And the next day. And the next day. And the next. A boulder jammed down your shoulders knowing you wouldn't be satisfied unless he personally slept on your couch so you could monitor him like a newborn. His attempt and general discontent were affecting you far more than you'd initially internalized.

Bruce sat in Alfred's study by the fireplace, staring out the window towards the grounds. Over breakfast with Alfred he took the first dose of the medication, and only a few hours later he swore he could feel the effects. He'd done some quick googling on olanzapine, and it appeared he was having a placebo effect. At minimum he'd feel effects in a few days, more likely after a week or two. He had to stop researching after that, too freaked out about having to be on antipsychotics, too much still in disbelief about how he'd done something so drastic yet had no memory of it. Alfred convinced him to stay 'home' from Batman for the rest of the week, which was an unusually easy feat considering how he hadn't taken a voluntary night off since beginning the project years ago. It broke him how upset you'd been, and he knew he wouldn't be able to see Alfred cry again. That was unbearable.

He didn't have much to do; he quickly realized he had been living only for the night. There really wasn't anything to do in the tower; no games (outside of a dusty chess board in Alfred's study), one old television (also in Alfred's study, off to an adjacent corner), no gym (he overextended himself enough as Batman), and the house was generally kempt from Dory's attentive cleaning in a house that didn't need more than dusting anyway.

Alfred told him to skip the meeting this week; Bruce initially hadn’t cared much either way, but realized that wasn't an option after misery frayed his nerves with just half a day of sitting around. In order to go in public, he needed to not be scarred and scabbed to hell; he wanted to walk the grounds, but worried about doing it in the daytime in the state he was in. Your article’s release had also prompted a patch of reporters to hang around his house, increasing his surveillance. Give an inch, they’ll take a mile. He and Alfred briefly discussed the contingency plan they kept at the ready: staged police photos of a nasty car crash on the edge of the grounds, but he couldn't share them yet—he wanted to leave you as much time as possible to soak up the success of the interview. You deserved that much, you deserved more after what he'd put you through. At least once an hour he thought about calling you, and he very nearly did a few times. He worried about you. Were you safe? Did you need anything?

On some level, he theorized focusing so much on you was a coping mechanism to escape his failing mental capacity. The more he focused on you, the less real estate his panic had. Last night had been miserable. He'd stayed awake staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with shock and fear. He’d wondered if this is what his mom had endured, but he didn’t have the mental fortitude yet to go digging through Arkham Asylum records. He didn’t know if he ever would again, so he simply sat. Watched the clouds move along the skyline. Watched the shrubs sway in the backyard. Followed the occasional crow floating past the windows.

As soon as darkness fell he couldn't contain himself any longer. The nagging feeling of someone he traumatized being alone in it was too much. He grabbed a hoodie and walked to the elevator, sure he could make a free escape through the old subway route. His hand hesitated before pressing the button. What if you didn't want him to visit? What if it was too stressful? He couldn't keep coming over unannounced, it was weird. Not normal. Alfred had heard the metal rustling and walked into the kitchen. His brow furrowed. "I thought you were taking a break from him?"

"I am." He stared at the ground, lost in thought. "Would you call her?"

"Miss Y/N?" Alfred's voice was soft, concerned. "Sure, why?"

Bruce had conveniently kept to himself that you'd been the one to watch him jump. That you were the witness, that you'd called 911. "I want to give her an update."

Alfred pulled out his phone and Bruce walked closer, bridging the gap between them. "Ask if I could talk to her." He didn't blink until you picked up, hiding a wince at how you'd done so before the end of the first ring. You were scared. Desperate.

"Miss Y/N, I hope this isn't a bad time." Alfred paused with the phone to his ear, his expression faltering before he let out a small chuckle. It was hollow. "No, he's alright. He wanted to see if he could speak to you now."

He handed the phone to Bruce, who quickly scurried up the stairs and into his room. He only put the phone to his ear once the door was closed behind him. "Y/N?"

"Bruce." It was so nice to hear your voice when it wasn't panicked. You sounded a bit tired, breathy, but miles better than yesterday. A sigh of relief heaved out of him, to which you had a reflexive response. "Are you okay?" Your voice rose, both in volume and octave.

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"I really don't think it matters,"

He bit back a part of him that wanted to say you were the only thing that mattered. He'd broken you. "Are you?"

You sighed. "Yes. Did you uh,"

"I got the meds."

"Good. Did you take them? Or, one, or, whatever the dose,"

"Yeah." He could hear how clouded your mind was, and it was excruciating being so limited to the phone. He remembered the first week after the murder. His mind had been a hazy minefield, everything running on autopilot. The tears, his limbs, his voice, nothing had been a conscious decision for weeks. Sure, he hadn't died, but you'd thought he had. If… his parents had survived, he figured he would've been in a similar state regardless. He wanted to help you, but he didn't know how.

"How long does it take the medication to work?"

"A few days. Maybe a few weeks." After his parents died, everyone brought him food. Random strangers had brought flowers, and food, and even stuffed toys for him to cuddle with. He'd only kept one, a stuffed dinosaur, now tucked into the back of his linen closet. Alfred checked on him constantly. No longer did he have to do his chores; Dory and Alfred picked up the slack. No longer did he have to deal with hearing his mom demand he eat his veggies and sides before getting another helping of soup, he only had soup. And juice, and soda, and warm blankets fresh out of the dryer. He remembered the warmth. Of the blanket, the soup. Those, paired with the scraggly dino in his arms, were the only things that made a decimal of impact on his devastation. "Do you need anything?"

"No. Do you?"

"Do you want anything?"

"I'm good. What about you?"

He didn't believe it. You were trying to spare him, just like you had by making yourself anonymous. Would it be wrong of him to come over? This late in the evening... probably. But he remembered the nights were the worst part. Alone in the empty darkness. Less cars, less lights, even the reruns on tv were stale at that time. It left no room for distraction. And honestly, he worried if he didn't distract you from your pain, he'd be gridlocked by his.

"Can I stop by?"

Onion, celery, carrots, butter, flour, curry powder, chicken broth, an apple, rice, chicken breast, thyme, and heavy cream. He didn't know how to make much, and Alfred didn't keep much variety around, but you hadn't balked at mulligatawny the first night you'd stayed here, and it was one of the few things he knew how to make without a recipe. It was also one of the few things the old man always kept fresh and stocked, especially now that Bruce was in recovery mode. Most importantly, it was warm. It was only nine, he could get this done before ten, and be gone before midnight. Just in time for you to get tired and go to sleep, without hours spent tossing and turning alone in bed. It was the least he could do for you.

He'd never felt more ridiculous than he did when he opened your door. The backpack was heavy and a reminder that he hadn't asked if he could cook, but assumed he would waltz into your kitchen and work some magic. You invited him in and he went straight to the island, setting down his pack and taking out the supplies. Your face scrunched with confusion. "What are you doing?"

He kept taking out food while he thought of how to phrase it. It was like his mind was slowed down, your apartment a pool of tv static. "I wanted to cook." Pause. "For you." Another pause, and he took out the apple. "It's warm." Fuck, could he have explained it any worse?

He paused and you watched him slowly move to meet your eyes. "Can I?" His hand was hovering above one of the drawers, ready to get to work. "Sure." You didn't understand why he couldn't cook at his house, but you couldn’t complain; still coming down from the nauseating blend of relief and guilt that gnawed at you when you finally saw him in the flesh. Like being attacked by a wave on a hot day; soothing, but bitterly cold at the same time.

You had reassembled the chairs today, and the table. You'd anticipated calling Mar later tonight if she weren’t already at a club, offering to order some takeout and have a movie night. When thinking up a distraction, you certainly hadn't anticipated Chef Bruce appearing with fixings for a mystery meal. Did billionaires even know how to cook? Did billionaire Bruce Wayne ever have to fend for himself in the kitchen? A brief image of him staring confusedly at a box of cereal made your mouth twitch into a grin.

Good. Your humor was still there, thank god. With his back turned to you, facing the burner, you could finally, finally, finally, finally unclench your jaw and drop your shoulders. He was here. It was weird, and uncomfortable, but undeniable. He was here, not hanging from a rafter or god knows where doing god knows what in the city. He was putting butter in a pan, and grabbing a wooden spoon. He was alive.

But... this was still out of character, which raised an orange flag. You waited for him to reach an impasse before speaking, tapping his fingers on the countertop while he watched the rice cook. An apple sat cubed to the left, the chicken sizzling on the back burner. "How are you? Really?"

Bruce needed to toe the line. Too honest and it would shift the focus to him, further distressing you; too dishonest and you'd dismiss it before he finished speaking. His body didn't just ache, it screamed at him. Every step, even every time he spoke, felt like torture. He'd teared up at multiple points between the lobby and your unit. His spirit was entirely crushed, shattered into irredeemable smithereens. He hung his head and let all the air out of his lungs, letting his weight fall into his wrists as he leaned over the stove. "Not great."

It should've pained you to hear that, instead it felt like wind in your sails. He was being honest. You could work with that. Honesty didn't need to be interrogated or sleuthed upon. "How can I help?"

He wanted to say you've done enough and don't want your pity, but it felt too real. You didn't need that tonight, not so close to the event. "Taste the soup and tell me if it needs anything." He prayed you wouldn’t keep asking.

"How would I know?"

"I want it to suit your taste."

"I don't know what it's supposed to taste like." You were hyperaware he hadn't answered you, not in the way you wanted. Maybe it was too close for comfort right now. Maybe all you needed to do was focus on him being here, and ask questions later.

"Pepper, curry flavor. Creamy." He stirred something fragrant on the stovetop.

"What's the apple doing?"

"It's necessary." It felt good talking about something else with you. Something normal. Not Batman, not his legacy, not the attempt. Still, all of it clouded and constricted the conversation, a constant tension you both wittingly ignored. "Smooths the spice."

I barely tasted it that night. Too scary being trapped in the house of one of the most powerful men in the world. You watched as he stirred, chopped, and fluffed. You were brought back home with your parents, watching them make dinner while you sat at the dining table and talked at them. He glanced around and looked at the can of heavy cream. In an instant you were up and grabbing a can opener, desperate to do your part. He instructed you to pour it into the pan, and for a half second he was just another guy; an acquaintance, someone passing through; someone regular, unassuming.

After a few more minutes of sitting around, you grabbed some bowls and spoons. After a quick taste he required you take ("Need to know if I missed something"), he ladled the bowls full, and you both walked slowly, carefully over to the table to set down the steaming soup. Bruce dug in without waiting, while you blowed on a single spoonful until every bit of steam hesitated to rise from it.

He watched you apprehensively. Your eyes widened a bit, and he could see your jaw moving like you were savoring it. "How is it?" It tasted fairly similar to how Alfred made it, which was fairly similar to how his mom had made it. At the very least he hadn't royally fucked up. Who knows, maybe olanzapine changes tastebuds.

You nodded, blowing on another bite. "Mulling it over."

God, that was so droll... it tugged a whispering grin to his lips, his bite slipping back into the bowl at the gentle movement of his dry chuckle.

He was laughing. Not really. Kind of. Weird, but yay! "I've never tasted anything like it. It's good."

"Don't have to placate me."

"It's peppery. Curry. Creamy."

He rolled his eyes and tossed another spoonful into his mouth. "Creative. What's the apple for?"

The tension never left, though you both did your best to selfishly soothe it through dry humor. The most either of you did was grin, breathe a little extra air through your nose. When he wasn't looking your eyes wandered to his purple and green bruises, and the complementary crusting scabs along his neck and hands. You wondered if he was suicidal right now, but wasn't saying anything. When you weren't looking, he studied your body language, hoping it would betray you. Were you scared right now? Did you think this was the weirdest thing ever, like he did? Did you think this was creepy? Was it creepy? Was it helping? Was he helping you?

You both finished and walked your bowls to the sink. He started rinsing them and reached for the dish soap, and you let him for a little. After he pat dry the first bowl, you couldn't sit with this worry on your chest any longer. The food had been warm and energizing, the mood made less intimidating with the joking, and all of it together held your hand as you broached the topic. It made you sick how concerned he was about your wellbeing; yes, he scared you, images of his frenzied, panicked face waking you up in the dead of night, but you hadn't watched him nearly die like he thought. His worry felt like rain on a hundred degree day: unsettling and unwelcome. You inhaled fully, hoping enough oxygen would get to some brave neurons and force the words past your teeth. They caught in your chest and by then he'd finished the second bowl; anxiety palpated your heart, bullying it into silence. You overrode it. "Bruce."

At once he abandoned the silverware and turned toward you. His analytical gaze peppered your face and the fingers that annihilated your cuticles. The stench of something burning singed your nostrils, your eyes tracking the source to the hem of his sweatshirt draped over the hot stove, smoking as small flames burnt through the cotton. Perhaps waiting to be seen, it erupted into a blazing ball of flame. You yelped and jumped toward the sink, grabbing the adjustable faucet and spraying him down. The flames went out, he turned off the burner, and you looked around for some magazines or papers to fan away the tendrils of smoke wafting toward the fire alarm.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

You glanced back and saw Bruce sopping wet, his hair having gotten in the mix too, draped over his eyes; the singed, ripped edges of his shirt that he clutched between his hands. You bit your lip to reign in your laugh. He started hurrying the shirt off his back, and gently shook it out to see if it had juice left in it. That was the kicker, sending you bolting toward your bedroom. You couldn't be laughing at him all the time. Get it together! He's hurting! But the laughs escaped your tight-lipped prison, and soon his shadow was in the doorway. As quickly as you'd laughed, you began to cry. You dropped to your knees at the whiplash; what once was dead, was now making soup in your apartment. Dancing around it wasn't helping, it was exacerbating the pain. He didn't hesitate to walk over, his long legs getting him across the room in only a few strides.

He didn't think you were crying about the fire. He stood helplessly beside you, unable to make a decision on what to do next. Guilt bloomed angry, self-flagellating thoughts, wishing he hadn't ran with his ego and coddled his denial. He placed a light touch to your shoulder and you jumped up. "I'm fine." He didn't say anything, only sat and watched as you struggled to reign in your barrage of tears. Your fingers threatened to go numb, and you attempted to shake the tingles away. "My body just needs to cry and then, then I'm done." You turned away from him and pressed your clammy palms to your cheeks, trying to physically shove the tears back into hiding.

After what seemed like an extended period of sniffling tears, you looked back at him. He was sat on the edge of your bed, his sweatshirt draped over his forearm. You could see more of the deeper wounds on his arms now, which was a viscerally surreal feeling. It was impossible not to be aware of his reputation; it preceded him at every turn, he was correct about that. Something entirely new though was seeing the fallibility so transparently.

Before graduation—and honestly, before seeing him breaking down in the alley—you had practically thought he was immortal. You wouldn't have done such ridiculous, dangerous bullshit as walking through an active crime scene at night if you hadn't internalized his heroism. Until this moment you hadn't realized how much you'd relied on that story; the subconscious reassurance that the Batman provided to Gotham's citizens. The mythical creature unfazed by bullets, incapacitating anyone in its wake. Batman's neutralizing force was so accepted it went unquestioned; now you knew it was because no one truly knew him. You and Alfred were the only people who had. Suddenly, the world felt a lot more intimidating. If you were any less shaken up, you might've laughed at the unmasking of Santa; but even children mourned the loss of magic, and here you were muzzling yourself.

"Can I help?"

You needed to nip this in the bud. It was going to come out however it was going to come out, and you needed to be okay with that. "I, appreciate the effort." It wasn't coming out so easily. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice. "But I want this to stop." I didn't watch you. "You don't want my pity, and I don't want yours." Too harsh, scale back. "The only thing I need is for you to be safe. Alive."

You sounded so much like Alfred that Bruce bit back a snarky retort. Not the time nor the place. Your bed creaked as he stood up. He hated how your words sat in his chest, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it. "Okay."

No argument, no fighting. Like you requested something he already vowed to do. He walked past you into the kitchen, and you followed on his heel. You had never been so close to him alone, and never from behind. His back was broad, making his already impressive height even more menacing. Veins bulged under his skin. Swore a tendon twitched in his forearm every time he stepped on his left foot. If he had turned for the door you might have yelped, but he just finished the dishes in silence while you lingered, then sat on the couch. If someone walked in right now, and was one of the few humans who didn't know about Bruce Wayne, they might think this looked normal. It couldn't feel more foreign.

You didn't wait half a second after the sink turned off to fill the space. From your perch on the end of the couch, across the room. "Will you be safe once you leave?"

Like a knife scraping under his fingernails. So scared he wouldn't be alive the next morning. Skittish. "Yes." He wasn't looking back at you, wishing he hadn't already put down the dish towel so he'd have something to wring. "I promise."

What good's a promise if he's six feet under? Your life had become so singular so quickly, and you were anxious for it to get back to its usual painful mediocrity. "Really?"

Ugh. He turned to face you and followed your eyes searching the carpet. He sighed away his animosity, knowing the rage seeping into his chest was directed at himself; it was nothing greater than embellished fear. He knew this, was well acquainted with it. Maybe he did need to go back to therapy. He leaned his hip against the counter and winced, jamming straight into a blackened, split bruise. He grabbed his hoodie from where it was slung across the edge of the counter, grimacing at the effort only when his face was obscured. “Really.” Within seconds he was at the door, his hand on the handle. He noticed your eyes flash in his periphery, and his entire body constricted at the sight. He forced himself to meet your eyes. It was strenuous. He figured he needed to warn you. "Alfred and I have emergency plans for times like these. Whatever you read in the news, it's a cover-up." He popped open the door, hesitating on the departure. The air was thick with emotional exhaust. "I'll see you on Thursday?"

You nodded, relieved he was being more covert with his concern. Sugaring the medicine. "See you on Thursday."

[lunarw0rks]

hi! i have a request with ghost or könig, where one of readers parents die, and they start freaking out, crying, panic attack and all. and one of them is there for them through it? if it's not too much, thank u sm and love ur writing!

Summary: After losing someone close, your roommate, König is your support system.

Warning(s): panic attacks, grief, parental death, hurt/comfort, roommate!König, GN!Reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: My first König work :) [mein Engel = my angel] I hope you don't mind, I chose reader's mother to be the one who passed.

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ KÖNIG MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Saying Goodbye // Drabble

It was supposed to be an average, mundane day.

Eight hours at work, then stumbling into your apartment with sore muscles and a desire to relax until it all repeats again tomorrow. It was hard enough making it from the door to the couch, especially when barely able to keep your eyes open.

When you did, your eyes fluttered shut nearly instantly. Finally, you were getting some much needed sleep until—

You groaned loudly, palming around the sofa for your phone ringing at full blast. Inside, you cursed yourself for forgetting to silence it, and now you were debating on answering the call. An unrecognizable number, probably spam. The last thing you needed was another problem, another hitch in your relaxation.

The gut feeling you had was unmistakable; you should take the call, something was wrong.

With a hesitant thumb, you pressed the accept button and raised the phone to your ear. You’re wide awake now, you might as well get off the couch and pace while the scammer chews your ear off.

At least, that’s what you wanted to believe at first. It wasn’t a scammer; it was a nurse.

She asks your name, says they got your number from your mother’s phone. That instinctual feeling you had was proven true now—in the worst way possible. Though the nurse was hesitant to get the words out, as if the news hurt her more than you, your brain was scrambling with every possible bad scenario.

A car accident, a heart attack, perhaps even a mistake on the hospital’s end. The logistics didn’t matter, how she got your number, knew your name. It couldn’t be your mother, it had to be a mistake, right?

“I don’t understand.” You wavered, finding any excuse to dismiss her words—if you could call them that, they overlapped and mixed together with the haze in your mind.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Her voice is strictly professional, but to imagine her on the other end, she’s cringing at giving news like this over the phone, probably more than once today.

“You can come down and claim her belongings anytime. The administrator will help you with the arrangements… Do you have anyone—”

You terminated the call before she could continue, phone dropping to the floor below you. How could this happen? Why you, today of all days?

Tears were blinding you, coating your vision in a misty gloss. Next, it was your knees buckling beneath you when the dizziness was too much. Third, it was your inability to catch your breath; heaving and gasping as the sobs became too much for your body to handle. Above all, it was the thoughts and memories of your mother, how this could’ve happened so suddenly.

You hadn’t heard the door opening behind you, your fatigued roommate coming up behind you with concern. His large hands hovered over your back a few seconds, before he gently placed them to get your attention.

“What happened, mein Engel?” He asked softly, eyes wide with concern.

In all the months you’d lived together, conversations were quick but respectful; many days, your schedules would overlap, resulting in rarely seeing one another, or sleeping when you were home at the same time. But that didn’t matter to König, he couldn’t help but involve himself now.

“My mom…” Your weak voice finally spoke, tears streaming from your eyes down to the neckline of your shirt.

His observant eyes flicked over to the scene before him; you, distraught and struggling to breath, your cell phone dropped next to you.

Calling family members of the deceased, informing them of the horrible news, it’s something he’d done before for his job. It never gets easier, but he’d never seen the grieving person on the other side, often it ends with the call ending mid-sentence, just like you had done.

Now, he was face to face with it, and it was personal.

König’s brows furrowed empathetically as he listened to your cries, each one cracking his tough and intimidating exterior. He felt he was awful at comfort, only doing what came naturally to him—which wasn’t verbal.

Instead, it was physical comfort; a perk of his abnormal size.

He used one of his hands to push your head into his chest, while the other remained tightly wrapped around you. You could kick and scream, pound against his chest, get it all out of your system, and he remains still, allowing you to mourn in any way you have to.

He lifted you both up, letting you stand there and grieve against him. König’s eyes shut as he listened to your roars of sorrow, yearning for the parent you would never get back.

This went on for a few minutes, the room silent except for the sounds of your cries against his chest.

His strong arms kept you upright with ease, even though you were visibly trembling. “It will be okay, I promise… I promise…” His Austrian accent was soothing and gentle, a stark contrast to the way he looked.

You lifted your head, eyes bloodshot and quivering open and closed. You weren’t to the point of clarity yet, but the initial violent shock of the news had begun to fizzle; your mother was alone right now, in a hospital bed waiting for you. “I need to go see her, König. She’s all by herself.”

Your shaky hands found the entry table, reaching for your keys, but his hand gripped your arm before your fingers touched the cold metal.

With a shake of his head, he drops his hand. “I’ll drive you, okay?”

—

The city passes as a cynical blur; bars and restaurants packed with partying patrons, neighborhoods with playing children and family get togethers. Then, you, still distraught and with a tightening chest. Each street, each turn, each street sign pointing in the direction of the nearest hospital.

Ten miles; five miles; one mile; then, the bright red sign displaying Emergency illuminated the lot and König’s car.

He pulls into the closest visitor’s space, though most are already occupied. You pull the handle and step out, but the door remains open as you watch the bustle of the emergency room through the large windows.

You meet his blue eyes again, a black surgical mask concealing his true identity. “Will you come in with me?” It’s more of a despairing plea than an honest question.

He kills the engine and removes his hand from the wheel, giving a wary nod. In the face of a panic attack, he’s there for you in an instant. But by your side as you say goodbye? He began to wonder if he was the one you really wanted as moral support.

Your shoes scrape against the pavement, as if your feet are just as hesitant to face the situation.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast an unforgiving glare on the sterile white walls, reflecting the urgency of the environment. The constant hum of medical equipment and the beeping of monitors merge into a symphony of urgency, while the faint scent of bleach hangs in the air.

Nurses and doctors dart from one patient to another, their faces tense with determination, occupied with those in need of more attention than you, here to claim a body, for lack of better words.

The desk in the entrance is just as chaotic; the corded phones going off with an endless stream of calls, papers and clipboards stacked atop the other, and the loud typing of the receptionist’s outdated computers.

The woman behind the counter looks up briefly, carelessly pointing to the waiting area beside the desk rather than speaking to you. Her typing continues, as if no concern for what you might be here for is left, especially after a long shift in this busy chaos.

You look over at the waiting area—depressing and packed with patients who have been triaged and are awaiting further care, and filling the rest of the seats, distraught and impatient family members waiting for results on their loved ones. Some are praying, some sobbing, others clutching minor injuries, but most stare blankly as they tap their feet against the beige tile.

“Actually, I’m here for my mother. She passed.” You tell the bored receptionist, practically forcing her to pay attention to your dead expression.

The once unsympathetic stare she had, now turned the opposite. But once again, without words, she pointed to the elevators in the direction of the ICU. Her pity only lasted seconds, before she raised one of the phones to her ear, full attention on the other line.

You looked back at König for reassurance, who merely kept walking with you, eyes straight ahead with uncertainty.

As the elevator doors close, a sense of tension fills the confined space.

The panel of buttons displays various floors, but the one that stands out is the one labeled "ICU" in bold, red letters.

Inside the elevator, there's a mixture of people, each carrying their own burden of worry and concern. Family members clutch tightly to their belongings, their faces etched with anxiety and sorrow. The atmosphere is heavy with anticipation, despite the icy chill of the ventilation causing goosebumps on your skin.

A few forced smiles are exchanged among the passengers, trying to find comfort in each other's company, but the worry in their eyes betrays their attempts at reassurance, though you keep a straight face, already privy to what lies ahead of the doors.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the elevator slows down, and the doors open to reveal the ICU floor. It’s a morbid contrast to the emergency room; eerie quiet. Nurses and doctors roam, small groups of family members visit, and most of all, patients without any visitors hooked up to the machines.

König’s steps mirrored the pace of yours as you walked down the aisle of rooms, reading each chart until you found the one belonging to her.

You stopped in front of it, seeing her in the bed through the glass window overlooking the room. Your eyes, which had just gone dry, began to tear up again. It was a different feeling, seeing it in person, rather than imagining it over the phone.

“Let’s go inside, alright?” His voice is low and respectful as he takes a step around you, sliding open the pocket door, allowing you to go inside first when you are ready.

The door wooshes shut behind you as you approach the bed. Her chest is rising and falling with each hiss of the ventilator, but there are no signs of life anywhere else. Her hands are cold and lifeless, as is her skin—now drained of any memories and creases of age.

When the nurse steps inside and begins explaining the process to you, you only nod in response, keeping your eyes on the loved one in front of you. It would be your decision, to unhook her and say a final goodbye, or keep her like this, nothing but a corpse breathing through a machine.

“I’ll be here, whatever you decide.” König places a hand on your shoulder, ushering you to the chair beside the bed, while he remains standing in the corner, attempting to keep a respectful amount of distance. He didn’t know her, and now this would be all he knew of your mother—this harrowing image of her, with you beside her.

The silence passed by, hour by hour you spent listening to the beeps of the machines, the wheeze of her departed lungs mechanically filling with air. The warm hand you placed on hers, met with no returning caress, only her stillness.

König would make small efforts, a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, or small comforts in your ear, but they were futile against the waves of grief engulfing you. They were recognized, but not reciprocated with thank you’s or smiles—only silence.

—

The night you said goodbye, he left the room out of respect. He spent about an hour in that busy waiting room, hands folded in his lap as he waited for your return. It was best if he left you to the details, only there in terms of comfort.

He looked up curiously each time the elevator dinged and visitors piled out, until eventually it was you coming out to meet him. Swollen, reddened eyes, and a stack of funeral pamphlets still clutched in your fist.

The moment the ventilator let out its final hiss, the moment they unhooked the tubes, the moment you removed your hands from her—all a constant replay in your mind. He was to his feet instantly, pulling you into an embrace similar to the one in the living room, letting you know he would be there every step of the way.

König remained silent until you both reached his car again, opening the car door for you as he waited for you to climb inside.

You turned to face him, staring up into his sympathetic gaze, “thank you. I don’t know what else to say, except thank you.”

His blue eyes softened, as if shocked by your gratitude. He thought it was a given, being there for you, driving you to the hospital, even just showing you kindness, but it was clear you hadn’t expected that from him.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He mutters softly, his large hand resting on your arm, giving it a light squeeze. He hunches over and places his head on your shoulder, rubbing circles up and down your back.

“I’m always here, hm? Whatever you need to get through this.”

[pisspope]

rei and zeke bday hcs cause like,,, why not (but also bc its what the ppl voted for)

tw: implied sex, references to canon typical violence

zeke

- its not that his parents didn’t celebrate his birthday at all its just,,, it was usually a small affair with influential PTA members and their kids. in other words, no one zeke got along with. very much a “seen not heard” while the grown ups sip mimosas type deal

- and of course zeke does everything in service of disappointing his parents so!!! its party time

- honestly u could try to throw a surprise party but good fucking luck this man is snoopy as all hell. every time ur out just a little too long with pieck or porco (they’re bickering over how early to buy balloons) he’s got u on the horn like “i know ur planning something”. would never accuse u of cheating bc he fully believes his own hype and knows u wouldnt DARE cheat on Adonis Himself (Narcissus more like but w/e)

- so yeah he’s probably at least a little involved in the planning of it all, wants to backseat drive because hes “not a loser who plans his own birthday party”. sending u screenshots from his notes app with his favorite colors, songs, what cake he wants, etc. lowkey insufferable

- day comes and you’ve rented out the kid’s bday party section of a bowling alley/arcade and filled it with every friend you can think of that isn’t vaguely shitty or hasn’t been burned by zeke in some way. so like… maybe 10 people, gabi and the kids included so they have a believable cover story if the staff asks who the party’s for. not that they’d care but zeke loves to play like he’s so sNeAkY and sHiFty by telling everyone it’s a party for udo or something.

- that man can BOWL and he’s an ass about it. the sorest winner in the world. in every universe he will knock down 10 or more little dudes with a rock and cheer and whoop and holler like an idiot. jeering at porco when he gets a gutter ball and you see reiner pull him aside like “just let him have it today. its his big day.” as if it is not ALSO reiner’s big day

- played with the idea of him getting a devil’s food cake and reiner getting an angel’s food cake for the lolz but he’s not sharing a party on his life so. coffee cake 100%, both because he likes it and because the kids don’t, which means more to take home. schemer that he is

- does ask for gifts but is pretty insistent about it being under 20 dollars (so he can see who overspent and ACTUALLY loves him. male manipulator). falco gets him an officially licensed sock monkey and he cries (pussy). whispering to u after that if his parents ever die horribly he��ll adopt him

- heading to the connected arcade after and, second verse same as the first, he kills at skee ball. breaks the record on each machine one after the other just to show off, gets all smirky holding the wad of tickets, talking about how he “does it all for uuuuu” and gives u the wettest sloppiest kiss on the cheek just to embarrass u

- does actually give u all his winnings tho. the high score, the posterity, the want to be remembered,,, the ego boost is enough, u can have the 2100 ticket pikachu plush <3 (u will never hear the end of this. i pity u)

- def gets home with his leftover dessert in hand and gifts in bags on his wrist, smile more genuine than usual. opening the door and letting u in, gifts and food quickly forgotten in lieu of giving you a proper thank you for helping put all this together

- 100% squeezing ur ass and asking if there’s any leftover cake for him, knowing it’ll make u roll your eyes but that you’ll relent bc the cheese is part of the charm (and boy when he gets that treat he asked for? he EATS)

reiner

- something something something same birthday complete opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of how they celebrate it

- wants his bday to be a nice quiet affair with the people he loves most, his little found family and maybe karina if hes feeling generous that year

- if u plan a party in any capacity hes gotta be part of the action! wants to hang streamers, balloons, any little things you decide on to spruce up your place for the event (please don’t call it an event he can’t handle the pressure)

- also u can’t have a cookout bday bc he will insist on working the grill the whole time. shark coded, will drown if he isn’t doing something 

- the party itself is extremely laidback, feels more like a big hangout. ordering 3 of his favorite type of pizza, bringing out beanbags and comfy chairs from other parts of the house so everyone can sit in the living room together. gabi and falco take the tv hostage to play video games and colt and bertholdt somehow get roped into it. it’s raucous, but comfortable.

- u and gabi collab on a homemade cake, but reiner is the baker in the family and gabi just likes the excuse to make a mess. end up making some easy cookies and buying a walmart sheet cake, and its a good thing, too, because just the sight of his name is enough to make him tear up. “you didn’t have to do all this” what, make a phone call to get ur name on a cake? the bar is on the floor unfortunately

- no presents because he can’t handle the pressure, but there’s a couple cards and his lip trembles over each one. zeke gets him a card that’s obviously for kids with stickers inside but he tears up at that one too because “it even comes with a little gift… so thoughtful…”

- rest of the party is spent doing more of the same, a couple beers are thrown back, maybe tosses a football around or something. very classic suburban white picket fence dream party. it brings reiner a quiet joy, one that he keeps close to his chest, a memory that he’ll look back on over and over.

- the guests start to filter out one by one until its just u and him, picking up paper plates, putting away leftovers. its all very domestic, it might actually be reiner’s favorite part. to just be with u in companionable silence, scooting around and putting the house in order. domesticity is something sacred that he never thought he’d have, and its a joy to share it with u.

- he INSISTS on sitting on the couch with u after, gives u those big eyes that he only gets when he wants u to pet his hair, falls asleep to one of his favorite comfort films with your hands on his head, totally content

- wakes up in the wee hours and carries u to bed like the big bear of a man that he is, not expecting anything of you, just wanting u to be comfortable. tucks u in and gives u a kiss like it’s your birthday or something

- and it’s not a gift bc reiner specifically requested no gifts, but if he wakes up to u wearing something special the next morning, something that leaves nothing to the imagination, i mean… maybe the party doesn’t have to be over quite yet

[sspidernaut]

.e-42 Miles Morales relationship hc's !!

people aren't nearly as obsessed w this man as they should be and that shit needs to change ASAP!!

sfw + gender neutral (i hope?) reader , use of 'princess treatment' once

i feel like people be forgetting that 42 Miles is also a version of Miles??

bro is NOT some hyperdominant fuckboy w 10 years of experience CMON

baby has never had a spouse, he's never even had his first kiss and this is the hill I will die on

anyways, Miles meets u, Miles falls in love, y'all start to date, yada yada mkay?

42 is fucking WHIPPED

and he's so shy about it i tell u

you're so attractive and good to him and effortlessly charming and you just have this aura about you and he cant believe ur his

bc Miles has zero rizz in every universe

you could look at him for just a second longer than usual and the boy would melt inside

will keep up his usual 'cool, calm, collected' act yk, he's the man!!!

but we all know that bro is dying inside whenever he sees u

ur the most important thing to him, ALWAYS

has to suppress the urge to propose to u right then and there when he sees u getting along w his momma Rio

she would love u! so happy that her baby finally has someone who treats him right yk??

ur the only person besides momma Rio he allows to touch his hair

bro is the little spoon and i will fight everyone who says otherwise

Miles loves to settle between ur thighs n lay his head on ur stomach or rest his head on ur shoulder or bury his face in ur chest when y'all are laying down, cmon, he needs the feeling of comfort

he absolutely has a picture of u in his wallet/phone case and as his wallpaper

would not let you touch any bags ever again, would not let you pay for ur shit every again, would not let u struggle w ANYTHING ever again. 42 is carrying all ur stuff (including yourself if you're tired, though he will pretend to be annoyed) and paying for whatever the fuck u want without question

insists you leave your wallet at home, will pout if u don't

princess treatment all the way

anyways

calls u 'ma, mami, chiquita' etc.

he's a mad dry texter (will not use punctuations for the life of him) but will text u all the time nonetheless

"u good ma"

"u need sum from the store"

"u eaten anything yet"

honestly I do feel like he can be an ass at times, its 42 after all, but he does his best to make it up to u every time

he's sooooo protective, will always ask where u at and wyd out of simple worry, would probably (politely) ask for u to share ur live location w him 24/7 and would share his w u

42 wouldn't even check ur location once he gets it, he would still opt for asking u directly, it just gives him a sense of comfort that he can (and will) find u immediately if he needs to

bro cannot lose another person dear to him

would absolutely grill people with glares if they look at u wrong

ur his, he's not sharing

he's not overly possessive tho, will keep himself in check

Miles drinks his respect ur spouse juice every day, he will let u live ur life smh

he really trusts you anyways

still asks (ASKS!!!!!) to go everywhere w u, trails after u like a lost puppy

all grumpy w his rbf but his eyes will never fail to soften around

he smiles the sweetest, dorky smile if u play ur cards right

not a big fan of pda but will let you touch n kiss him if u want to touch n kiss him and throw a protective arm around u, always has a hand on ur lower back in public

all over u in private tho!!!

he's addicted to ur kisses and will ask before kissing u every. single. time

once he gets his lips on urs you will not get him off of u again, 42 is an addict and ur his drug

scary dog privilege all day everyday

also does his best to make a good impression on ur parents and they love him!

once y'all have been in a relationship for longer he will honestly ease up around u so much and be less shy yknow

actually starts to tease u back, blushes less and does that tiny amused smirk instead

y'all playfight every two seconds (42 will NOT let u win under any circumstances, bro is a lil bitch and smug asf about it)

will also beat ur ass at mario kart

42 Miles ain't showing u no mercy w that shit, he's too competitive

he buys u new flowers every week

extremely expressive through actions, less comfortable to do so through words but will tell u that u mean everything to him on a regular nevertheless bc he's a sweetheart and in love w u

you would watch every single one of his (basketball) games and eventually he'd give u one of his jerseys (w his name and number on it and everything!!)

bro has to hold himself back so bad whenever he sees u in it

bonus points if its oversized on u

he's so JIDFUHIGEYFUERFV I will simply pass away

constructive criticism and reqs are welcome!!

[not-5-rats]

You people give ur bugs sm trauma, sometimes I just wanna put them in the palm of my hand and hold em, let them have some god damn peace

Anyways, let's ask some (potentially traumatising) questions!

1) What would your Bugs parents opinion be on the rest of the army/ bugs that are close to ur Bug?

2) If your Bug was in a slasher film (eg: Halloween, Scream, Friday 13th) How quickly would they die? (Inspired by the bugscord)

3) Adding on to 2, how would they die?

4) Would your Bug be mad at you? I mean look at their past, look at their emotional state...could your Bug ever forgive you for forcing them to deal with all that? (Looking at you Roze, and...well...most of the army-)

5) Are there any Bugs that scare your Bug? Or any that they admire?

6) Scenario!

Bug had been spending the day outside, it was a nice day...why wouldn't they be outside! It had been a calm day, they had been *insert wtv you think ur Bug would be doing like a hobby or smth* until they saw a figure approaching the cottage. They were guarded at first till they saw it was a messenger, carrying a letter

The messenger explained that they had a letter for a Mr C Markins? Bug agreed to take the note and give it to Chez when they saw him. They took the note and the messenger left, Chez was currently away fishing and wouldn't be back for a while so they held onto it

But something in there mind couldn't stop wondering what was in the note..so eventually they went against their better judgement and opened it, it read

'Chester,

I couldn't stand it anymore, I couldn't keep your wretched secret. You're a murderer and you have to face the consequences of your actions, I know you had good intent, Erik was abusive but murder? Chester murder is never okay!

I have contacted the authorities, they are on their way to find you and you shall be executed the day after you are returned to town. I hope to get from row tickets to this event

Don't try to run, they'll find you

- Audrey Markins'

What do they do?

7) [...]! AU (you'll learn what it is, just read)

The rescue plan was in action, it was time to get the boys (+ Lora and Roldan) out of the arena!

Everything had been going perfectly, Bug, Chez and Marco has snuck in no problem, everyone was out of their cells and they had been wandering the halls. Chez was leading, holding a map of the arena, covered in doodles of potential paths and escape routes, though he didn't seem to be paying it much attention

They had been walking for ages, deeper into the dark/ forgotten corners of the arena. Then they came across what appeared to be a large cell, the door was ever so slightly ajar. Chez stopped just outside of it and pointed to the outline of a door at the far end of the cell

"That's it, that's our path out."

He ushered everyone into the cell, Bug leading infront and Chez trailing beind. Bug went to open the door...only to find it didn't open. That's when they heard a loud clunk and the undeniable sound of a lock being turned behind them.

They looked around to see the door shut, Chester on the other side of the bars, everyone else now trapped in the cell. He held onto the bars with one hand, the other holding a ring of keys he had snatched from a guard earlier

Bug demanded to know what was going on as they stormed over to the bars, standing right infront of Chester, the only thing between them being the bars of the cell

"...they're monsters *Bug*, they may have you fooled but they couldn't fool me. Monsters the lot of them"

Bug told him he was wrong that half-bloods were not monsters, he sighed as his gaze met theirs

"This is why you're in there with them, you've been tricked, tricked into believing these creatures are worth anything! They're murderers. Cruel, heartless beasts! They don't care about you or me, only themselves. They can't be freed, they're a danger, and knowing how much you care about them...you can't be free either"

That's right it's a Traitor! AU! ^^

Anywho what does Bug do?

☆---------------☆

Tags -

@rozeliyawashereyall @willowve01 @asmrbrainrot @kaiamtt @iistxrmyskyii @insignificant-anarchy @stxph-artist @aspenm00n @keyaartz @fangsshadow @rustycopper4use @piffany666 @dreamyshape @idontevenknow7878 @lunaritychuwolf @littlesiren79 @castbracelet240 @strayharmony943 @proxdragon @tiefling-chaos @threeweekinsomnia @recated @wilderrorcard @diamondzoey @fennaboysenberry @lunnats @lightdragon789 @pinkcocopuff-aqualoid @itsargyle @astralbulldragon13 @ccstiles @puffin-smoke @fruity0salad @takashishihoin @reefhastoomanyaccs

[skyberia]

[Knocking on ur door] hi I’m interested in nephos. What’s this abt a death curse?

[SLAMS THE DOOR OPEN] hiii omg [GRABS YOU BY THE COLLARS] GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW

so, for starters, their general Tragic Backstory goes something like:

néphos was born cursed, or was cursed really shortly after birth.

their parents abandoned them basically immediately after they were born, presumably because they didn't want to deal with a Literal Cursed Child (or maybe because they had something to do with it…?)

by the time he was found by another person, he was nearly completely overtaken by this curse, his body almost entirely covered in these dark marks shaped like tendrils.

luckily the person who found him was a good samaritan-- a kind old halfling cleric who took them in and decided to try her best to help them, whatever the cost.

she couldn't find a way to dispel the curse through the usual means. hard to when you don't even know what the hell you're dealing with, she's never seen anything like this before

it's obvious that she's running out of time though, and that if something wasn't done soon they'd die. so she did the only thing she could think to do, which was buy them time.

ultimately she managed to take the curse and "isolate" it to his left eye, rendering it blind and darkened, but effectively slowing down its progress and making it so he could at least have a proper chance at living!

however doing this took a Lot out of her, basically seeping her of nearly all of her energy and magic and rendering her really weak and sickly as a result.

she managed to care for and raise them for a few years, but when they were a child still she became too ill to continue doing so and had to be taken for basically permanent care at a local house of healing, leaving them to fend for themselves in the streets.

thankfully what she did was pretty effective, making it so the worst they had to deal with (curse wise. they still had a pretty rough time in other aspects) for the first like two decades of their life was weird looks and a lack of depth perception.

but then one day he looks in the mirror and finds dark marks coming out of their left eye, reminding them that all that was done was just a measure to Slow Down the progress of the curse, and that he's still bound to succumb to it someday soon...

he tries to look for cures, goes to every curse specialist he can find, then to whatever expert cleric or wizard that's around, and none of them can even tell him what the curse even is. nobody's ever seen anything like it, and so obviously nobody has any fucking clue how to get rid of it!

so eventually they just give up. accept the fact that their lifespan is going to be significantly shorter than most other elves, that they're going to suffer a horrible and unknown fate at some point, and decide to just make the most out of whatever time they do have left

and that's it :) that's their whole deal. he then spends the rest of his days in baldur's gate fucking around and narrowly escaping finding out, placing bets on what'll get to him first the authorities or the curse, Except that's not what happens at all and instead they get abducted by mind flayers and get a tadpole inserted in their brain, and when they next manage a glimpse in the mirror Oh! Lol! the curse's suddenly spreading a lot faster than before huh! but they can't spend too long worrying about that because they suddenly have a bunch of new friends with a lot of problems and issues that are more pressing than his own and on top of that the world's falling apart and they're the only ones who can save it and Oh, uh, he just nearly died in combat and somehow that made the marks from the curse worse, and it's kind of starting to react weirdly with his lightning magic? and-- hey, you know now that you mention it, his whole life he just went along with this story his mother figure told him about his origins but the more he thinks about it the more holes he finds in it and it starts making less and less sense, and ha ha haa haaaaaaaa

(insert the whole companion questline i made up for them here. in order to not keep both of us here all day and also immediately contradict all the information i just gave you and overcomplicate everything, the really short version is: the woman he thought saved his life lied. Among other things)

anyway. Some other general things about them:

their full name is néphos huan

they're 54 years old

they don't know this but they're like elf mixed-race. their father was a sun elf, and their mother was a drow. he gets the red eyes (...eye...) and grey hair (and the penchant for ruthlessness, probably) from his mom.

their "job" pre-events essentially consisted of them seeking out people with issues and offering to help sort them out, for a price. Usually a quite high one.

he has a sort of reputation around baldur's gate as someone who can "solve any problem with a snap of their fingers!" because of this, which kind of makes him sound like a djinni. he is not. it just turns out that a lot of problems can be solved by frying whoever's causing them with a concentrated lightning storm lol

they're really reckless. i cannot understate this. At every turn they will see something that has a high chance of killing them (but that has some potential reward) and they will run straight at it. This was already a problem before but the tadpole makes it SO much worse

he's a real "what's in it for me?"/"where's my reward?" type bitch. refuses to do anything without knowledge that there will be some type of compensation for him at the end. This is a fine attitude to have and definitely doesn't have consequences that carry over to his personal relationships making them more difficult than they should otherwise be

i could go on for ages longer abt their general dynamics with the other characters and also their fake companion quest and so on but i will . leave it here for now. Thank you for asking. i love you

[that-one-i-think]

My MCD OC Nyx's canon backstory

He was a small baby deer in the twilight forest who was separated from his herd and parents. Starving, he went to eat and came upon a small cottage with a few berry bushes outside, so he decided to go eat.

Little did he know that Pavana, an enchantress,in that cottage, and he was exactly what she was looking for. Pavana, a woman with a love for peacocks, was trans and with no amulets or others to have a child with, and she desperately wanted one. So here comes an orphaned baby deer, and suddenly, SHE HAS A CHILD!

She took little Nyx in and using a few spells and careful use of some of her fae blood, a bit of ent sap, some lich dust, and a careful bit of minotaur tears SHE TURNED HIM HUMAN.... Sorta. Well, her grandfather's fae blood definitely gave him her family's pink eyes but everything else... not so much.

Whose to say toddlers are even human? So she raised him as her child, and Nyx was really happy! Sure, gaining sentience beyond what any of your species could ever comprehend was new, but that's just kind of how toddlers are. He got a new mom and Pavana got a little boy!

His mom then started teaching him all about magic, and with the magic coursing through his veins, it came naturally. He became an amazing sorcerer. Unfortunately, he didn't have his mothers trick for illusions, so he wasn't able to be an enchanter like her, but it still worked out. They even managed to find away to make the spell that turned him human non reversible unless concented so he was able to shift from deer to human with ease.

Unfortunately, one day while he was experimenting he got spooked by a skeleton mid transformation and got stuck as a deer centaur for a week and ripped all of his clothes. Pavana couldn't stop laughing and refused to help him turn back until he ran into a minoshroom who wouldn't stop hitting on him.

When he was 19, he used his magic to try and stop the spread of Liches and the reign of monsters in the Twilight Forest. He managed to keep them in check for years before what felt like an explosion of magical force ran through the world, caused by what could have only been someone ripping a dimension open. Then what he thought he had undercontrol suddenly became unmanageable, and Ur-Ghasts and Hydra and every other monster were popping up left and right. Liches, older and more powerful than what Nyx had ever dealt with came to life, bringing with them not the normal zombies but red husks of people. Shadow Knight corpses.

Worst of all, some of the Liches escaped the forest and Nyx knew that he had to follow. While magic is strong in the Twilight Forest, it is unstoppable against normal people. On the hunt of a Lich, he runs into a village brimming with magical folk, Phoenix Drop. Deciding to rest for a few days, he gets to a tavern where he gets caught turning bronze coins gold by one blue haired guard.

Small adage: When Nyx is 19 Pavana tells him to find his own wizard tower and goes "Finally! You are grown and I can live in peace!" Even though she chose to have him. They both know she is joking and he visits when he can and so does she. Pavana will never die.

Nyx does end up converting a massive magical redwood tree into his home. He hollows out the inside and uses the wood to create all of the furniture. He does make sure that the tree will continue living with the help of a few nymphs and dryads that use his house as shelter on the occasion.

[intertexts]

i lied actually that krouse/luke interaction i posted earlier isn't wibby and virion it's actually wibby and ashe <3 what is more important than two kids trauma bonding over feeling like freaks because of their powers!!!!!! Dakota has his martyr complex, virion has his identity issues, but when it comes down to it both of them see their powers as something good, something that can be used like a tool, etc. they don't get it. ashe, actively discouraged by his father to use any of his powers AT ALL, literally locked in his house while his dad (hypocritical piece of shit) goes out and. uses powers. william, who got his powers from feeling like a freak and continued to feel like EVEN MORE of a freak after he got his powers. well. I think they just understand each other on such a core base level. emo kids unionizing you are so important to me. I think they like to sit on the roof at night and just talk about shit and look at the sky. william smokes and ashe doesn't give him shit for it even lightheartedly like virion or dakota would.

also not exactly related but also kind of related. very important to me that early on in their friendship ashe sneaks out of his house when mark isn't there. teenage rebellion is the catalyst for everything (also the irony of mark doing everything in his power and more to stop things from happening to ashe only for it to turn out that his actions are what directly led to ashe rebelling and meeting the wards and joining them and everything that comes after) . he finds out when ashe sneaks back into his room one night not realizing mark was home and his clothes smell like smoke . cue the "where the FUCK were you, what the FUCK were you doing" argument.

ohhhhh emo kids union....... emo kids union u are everything to me!!!!!!!!!!! god!!!!!! esp. in this context.... u are so right. they understand each other on a core level...... the loneliness the alienation the shared experiences. william loves dakota & virion so much & they love him & they'll always b trying 2 be their for each other in their own fucked up ways but like-- they'll never understand william thinking "i wish i could call my parents and cry and tell them everything but i could never do that." or "yeah i hate my brother and he scares me sometimes and i wish i didn't want to trust him like i do"!! what does that mean to the orphan n the guy who grew up with loving (dead) parents? ashe gets it though! he knows what it's like to be so angry and frustrated and lonely.... they click so immediately. ashe goes yeah i'm fucking terrified that one day i'll lose control and hurt everyone around me. i mean, i wish i was like Good, hahaha, but that's just not for me so i'm just trying make as much good as i can come out of something that straight up sucks, right? & wibby goes ohh. Ohhhhh. shit. like. it's exactly what ur saying man. locking eyes awkward cautious smile with the one other kid wearing a black tshirt n skinny jeans at camp & just Knowing Exactly who you're gonna be friends with. the relief of it.!!!!!

side note 2 me they r both breaker/shakers hehehe (wibby's ghost shaping kiiind of blurs the line? & after his second trigger when he gets Way better at mimicking humans & shit he's frequently miscategorized as a master. he kind of is? well. you know. blurred lines. but i don't think he's working with anything Living.) which i like a lot. same trauma solidarity!! you KNOW they r sitting on that roof w smokes & booze (neither of them even like the booze but it's part of The Thing) (dakota substance abuse baggage virion would rather die than be in an altered or unfiltered state in front of people) feeling kind of scared and gleeful that they actually get to have this Cool Person experience they always figured they'd miss out on forever... u know they're talkin bout all the normal shit they Did always want to do and did miss out on. actually yeah now that i'm thinking about it them genuinely barely even filtered through levels of irony larping all the shit they missed out on due to being Fucked Up is so important 2 me.... i need them to light fireworks in the street and accidentally stay too close & run away from them giggling & go to the grocery store at 2am & go to concerts... they get to be kids for a bit in a way that only the two of them understand. yk?

FUCKING ILL OVER THAT. BTW. YEAH. god if i think abt ashe & mark too long i'll die but that's so good... yeah.... perfect... i bet ashe kind of likes that his clothes smell like smoke btw. like real proof he Does have friends that he hangs out with now. god i bet they give each other shitty stick n pokes and are really normal about it.

[nightmare-dreamt]

Hello! I saw ur request are still open! I hope u don't mind this since I've never requested something like this before-

Could I get a fic for an welcome home fandom where the cast meets reader from our world or their world.

(I hope I don't get this wrong- ty for writing it! If I do-)

Welcome Home, Puppet Show Request!

If enough people enjoy this I'll make a part 2 or even make it a series :)

It was definitely a shock when the news hit about your great grandmother and her unknown passing. She was alone in her house during a stormy day. People say her body was found up in the attic right beside her desks writing a letter to her grandchild. You. When her body was found, the letter was sent and you were quickly on the next plane ride to her town, needing to know what happened and what caused her to- our of nowhere.

Yes, your grandmother was at a high age, but nothing was wrong with her. Everything about her was healthy and pure, no sickness, no pain, nothing. Yes, she was an adventurous woman and tended to forget about her old age, but everytime she did she still found a way to overcome that problem and move on so… how did she die?

"Here we are," Y/n whispered, staring at the wooden house that used to be filled with happiness but now instead was filled with sorrow and dread. Rushing over to the front door, Y/n unlocked the door trying to get out of the rain, not wanting to get soaked anymore then they already were. Y/n signed, shutting the door behind them, "I haven't been here in ages, the place still looks the same."

Setting their things down, Y/n began to investigate around remembering all of the memories that they had when visiting with their parents. Heading into the kitchen, Y/n went to get themselves a drink when the sound of a loud crash was heard causing them to jump and spin around. Y/n swallowed the lump in their throat, "What was that?"

Peeking their head out from the kitchen entrance, Y/n stared down at the hallway seeing the stairs to the attic opened. Goosebumps grew on their skin and shivers blew down their spine, Y/n knew that the stairs weren't opened up when they first entered the house, but now they were. Y/n gulped, moving towards the hallway, "How did that open up? I swore that it was closed when I passed by it earlier…"

Standing in front of the stairs, Y/n looked up and saw the dark room of the attic that gave a strange feeling to them, making them not want to go up it anymore. Going to shut the door, the sound of a soft meow was heard behind them, causing Y/n to turn around and see a small black cat that sat behind them. Y/n signed, "Apollo, you scared me. I was wondering where you went, have you been left alone this whole time?"

"Hey wait!" Y/n yelped, when the cat stood up running underneath their legs up the stairs to the attic. Y/n widened their eyes, "No… Apollo, please don't make me go up there." When no noise was heard from the creature, more chills ran through the body causing them to shiver as the first step was taken to the attic and then the text. Soon enough, it was in the dark attic where a bunch of boxes were stacked upon each other filled with junk from their past.

"Apollo! Come out, I don't want to be here anymore," Y/n called out to the cat with a scared tone to their voice. Not seeing any sight of the cat, Y/n began walking around the attic trying to find the creature when the sound of footsteps were heard behind them. Y/n jumped back, "Who's there!"

"Meow!" Apollo said, Y/n spun around, "Apollo! There you are, come on let's head back down." Not listening to them, Apollo jumped up onto a small desk that seemed to have an old television on it that had a black screen. Sitting down in front of the screen, Apollo began to clean himself waiting for Y/n to come over. Y/n signed, "You are the worst cat ever."

Following the cat towards the television, Y/n went to scoop him up when the sound of the television turning on was heard. Stumbling back with the cat in their arms, Y/n widened their eyes at the screen that now had what seemed to be a television program playing with a kids title playing. Y/n stared at the screen confused, "What the

"Welcome Home Puppet Show!" The narrator started, "The show every kid is watching, come along and let's see what our fellow neighbors are doing." Tilting their head, Y/n sat down in front of the screen with a confused look wondering what was playing on the screen in front of them. Holding the cat close, Y/n saw the screen switch to an open field with a tree that showed a canvas with some light colors on it.

"It seems one of our fellow neighbors is painting, let's go see who it is," The narrator continued with the camera zooming in on the painting equipment "Look it seems Wally is out pairing, let's go see what he's painting"

"Oh I didn't see you there neighbor, how is your day? Wally asked with a bright smile on his face. Y/n stared at the screes, "Wally..."

"Darling, Wally Darling," He smiled, holding the paintbrush delicately in his fingers painting light strokes on the canvas. Y/n shock their head, "How did he…

"His it seems like the rest of our neighbors are waking up, shall we go see them neighbor?" Wally asked. Y/n yelped, "Apollo" Turning away from the show, Y/n watched the cat try and head back down stairs but was quickly grabbed by them. Y/n signed, "You're going to be the death of me."

"Don't go."

"Hm? What was that?" Y/n hummed, looking around the room. The voice was heard again, "It's been forever, please… don't go." Spinning around, Y/n tried to figure out what the noise was, clear confusion on their face at the unknown voice. Y/n called out, "Who is there? This isn't funny, I'll call the police."

"I'm not joking, I missed you, we all missed you and now you're back," The voice started now having a sort of distant tone to them. Y/n growled, "I'm not going to ask again! Who is there?" Silence. Screaming, Y/n ducked when the sound of static was heard from the tv causing their heartbeat to start beating faster. The voice started again, "You left for a long time and now you're back… I don't think I can't wait that long again… I'm sorry but I can't let you leave again... neighbor."

"Neighbor?" Y/n repeated, glancing up at the screen seeing the bright blue hair puppet staring right at them through the screen. Y/n sat back moving away from the television, "Impossible."

"It's good to see you again Y/n, now I can't ever let you go," Wally stated, "We'll be together soon, and now you'll finally be a part of the neighborhood…"

"No…" Y/n turned, about to head back down to the main floor when a bright light shined throughout the room. Blinding them, Y/n shut their eyes holding on tighter to the cat and when their eyes opened they were met with bright buildings and joyful noise.

"Where am I?" Y/n gasped, looking back and forth concerned at what had just happened. Apollo glanced up, meowing in their hands, "Meow."

"Welcome to the neighborhood!" A familiar voice greeted, causing them to turn around and meet his gentle eyes, "My name is Darling… Wally Darling. I'm glad to have you in our neighborhood, neighbor."

[ginnyluvstimmy]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐤𝐚 : ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵇᶠ

• defo whimpers and whines

• doesn't mean he's necessarily a sub tho, just extremely sensitive

• would mutter soft "thank you's" as you please him

• he's literally so gentle, his hands would always caress your face

• if you gave him head, his hands would immediately be in your hair, clutching it and running his hands through it cause he just can't get enough of how soft it feels

• always staring at your lips

• would buck his hips into your mouth so desperately, he just can't take it

• he'd be so nervous before, very jittery, his words rushed and loud, trying to conceal his aching cock and excitement

• could fuck as much as a rabbit

• he'd whimper incoherent praises and kiss you so hard (with a lot of tongue)

• i mean he'd literally just stick his tongue in your mouth, he finds it so hot

• if you want to tease him, just find a way to lick/suck his fingers, the feeling of your soft, pillowy tongue riles him up immensely

• he also loves it when you lay your head on him and look up at him with vulnerable doe eyes, he adores cute lil things

• he really enjoys holding you during sex; wants to be as close to you as possible, burying his head in your neck

• willing to try literally anything, he's very experimental

• he gets off on taking your clothes off, doing it so tenderly and gently with such sparkle in his eyes

• ur just his lost lil lamb

• literally coos at everything you do

• again, he'd be so fucking gentle, just kitty licks to start with cause he loves seeing you squirm

• he admits, sometimes he gets ahead of himself and tries to skip the foreplay, but he's just sooo needy

• would brush your hair out of your face as he fucks you, kissing your flushed face all over

• just wants to spoil you and ruin you, ur his favourite girl

• he's LOUD, i mean loud. whimpering, moaning, groaning. literally a flustered mess

• and when you're done, he'd hum you sweet songs from his childhood for your sleepy head

• would stroke and pat your head as you fall asleep

• always making magic chocolate for you, because he can't cook anything else; but loves to see you doing it for him

• resting his head in the crook of your neck and hugging your waist while you're cooking

• always, always singing

• "if a writer falls in love with you, you can never die" he thinks it's the same with chocolatiers

• shares every dream he has with you

• looooong pillow talks, but you always fall asleep first

• spends about half an hour meticulously arranging his clothes in the morning...he is obsessed and always wants to look perfect

• his lips are soft as sugar

• late night walks in paris

• handmade gifts

• kisses on your breasts

• cuddles!

• loves you more than any bar of chocolate

• always lets you taste the chocolate before selling it

• the most positive, energetic, playful and funny person you'll ever meet

• magic tricks nonstop

• "your personal pocket size sunshine", he calls himself like that bc he always succeeds to make you smile

• your parents LOVE him

• he would die for you, LITERALLY

• obviously, he's not very skilled with writing, so he'd instead draw you and draw some of your favourite possessions

• the drawings aren't very good tbh but it's the thought that counts

• anytime you're sad, he'd do literally anything to make you feel okay again

• i mean literally anything

• whatever you think will make you feel better, he will find a way to get

• learnt how to plait hair and plaits yours, putting in a red bow at the end

• but don't get me wrong, he can be charming when he wants to be. it's like a switch, he can turn it off and on

• when around you, his speech is very erratic and rushed

• he just has so much to say and so little time it stresses him out

• he sings soft songs about you that definitely rhyme

• your presence would always be the best part of his day, he loves seeing you happy and making you laugh (...sometimes to his expense)

• would make a fool of himself just to see you giggle

• he absolutely adores your giggle, i mean seriously

• he'll keep on making wonderful things that surprise you and he'll keep making them grander every single time

• he just wants to see your eyes light up in admiration all the time

• he'd try to make every day a special one for you

• would find out your daily routines/ whereabouts and sneak there to make sure you're safe

• he just wants to lock you in his arms forever, his glance is filled with nothing but affection

!!!THE TEXTS ARE NOT MINE, I JUST ADDED SOME IDEAS!!!