#will feel much worse than being a recluse

[nametakensff]

Autism rant under the cut

Unmasking autism is really fucking difficult. Telling people they can't just spring things on me the day before, asserting my boundaries and saying I don't want to go to things and I don't need an excuse to not go is literally met with the exact same 'don't be difficult/selfish/antisocial' shit I got BEFORE I was diagnosed with a literal fucking disability

It's like neurotypical society is built on misery and obligation. Like why should I have to care about making a person feel bad by pulling out of an event I agreed to under circumstances that have now changed, when they don't give a fuck about how uncomfortable I would feel by going?

I've sat through countless meals, a fucking terrible wedding this year, so many things just to make other people happy and waste my time and it's getting increasingly impossible to pretend that I give a fuck about these events

Why is it that at nearly the age of 29, a grown adult with supposedly all this autonomy and 2 confirmed developmental disorders, am I receiving even more push back?? Am I not my own person??

Sorry if I'm 'making everything about AuDHD' all the time. It is LITERALLY how my brain works!! It affects EVERYTHING I DO and it ALWAYS HAS. I have spent my ENTIRE LIFE trying to figure out why things are so hard for me and why other people don't struggle the way I do. Being 'high-functioning' just means that people feel comfortable gaslighting me about my own abilities, and expect me to continue to hurt myself for them because I can hide it. I can pretend to care, I can show up and smile and talk shit and do it fucking well, but why should I when I get home and sit and stare at a wall afterwards due to total fatigue and sensory overload??

It's like having an identity crisis. How much of me is the mask? Will everyone hate me once I stop masking? I'm not worried about my close friends or my sister one bit because I'm essentially unmasked around them already but everyone else??.....idk man. I almost wish I was less competent in social settings because it feels like people think I'm lying about my disability

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2 thoughts

you know who i just remembered ALSO has long hair? Vlad. Vlad Masters. Danny's worst enemy and biggest pain in the ass ever since he sent those vulture ghosts after his fucking dAD. Danny having long hair would make Vlad so inSUFFERABLE. Like look!! Proof that you are much better off as MY son. We have matching hair lengths! Come be my son! I will make you a halfa like me and we will become powerful allies together!

Danny almost chops it off out of spite. He ends up not doing it because he likes his hair long, actually, very much so and he's not growing it out again just because you're crazy! He's attempted to take a pair of scissors to Vlad's hair though -- THAT was a fight that got ugly. Danny's go-to threat whenever he sees him after that is that he's going to chop off vlad's hair when he's not looking - just you watch, Masters. He'll do it. HE'LL DO IT.

And if Danny wasn't keeping it a tight secret, he'd turn around and taunt Vlad about being a) a clone and b) a clone of BRUCE WAYNE. he'd say stuff like:

"How's it feel knowing my parents cloned a man richer than you"

"you're just mad that bruce wayne is more my dad than you'll ever be!"

"it could've been you that my parents accidentally cloned instead of Wayne, but instead you fucked off for twenty years instead!"

but also its a constant question Danny asks himself how he and no one else ever figured it out sooner that he was a clone. He doesn't understand how Vlad of all people didn't realize it when he went to college with the man with his parents and was also stinking rich, before remembering that he doubts Vlad remembers anyone who wasn't his parents in college, and has been a rich, recluse loser this entire time.

its a good thing though, danny's pretty sure vlad would attempt a hit on the man if he found out out of pure jealousy and indignant rage. And then he'd get his ass beat by Batman and his army of children.

All in all, Dany is a pure menace towards Vlad whenever he gets the chance, as is normal, and then Vlad's suffering gets doubled after he makes Ellie - of which she is even worse than Danny because she's the halfa that Danny Is NOt and thus has the powers to break into his house easy peasy and wreck shit. She steals his obsidian black card and goes on a shopping spree. This is a regular occurrence.

(and for anyone who isn't aware - Ellie is the same age as Danny in clone^2 bc i thought it'd be fun)

And then it gets tripled once Damian joins the family and gets caught up to speed on all of Vlad's tomfoolery and whoops, Damian's got better stealth skills than Danny and looks like Ellie has a partner in crime whenever they need to sneak into vlad's house to cause him grief.

Vlad's walls are the first canvas for Damian to test out his new spray paints on once he gets them :)

next up

Wes weston! i love this guy, he's so funny and he definitely knows danny is the Phantom in the clone^2 au. it's not as easy to figure out as it is in canon since its not just a simple colorswap, but perhaps he sees Danny taking off his mask after a daytime fight. and after that he becomes determined to reveal that quiet, strange fenton is the vigilante phantom.

he's putting some real,,, detectiveness? stalkerish? skills to use because catching photos of phantom is not as easy as it is if he were a halfa. He can't just snap a few dozen photos of fenton and phantom and then color compare the two of them either - Phantom wears a mask, and works primarily at night or in evenings, and typically avoids the living during the day. And he doesn't speak to the living either. Wes has to put in some extra work into his investigations and evidence.

He also makes the dumb mistake of cornering Danny in the bathroom one day early on and telling him he knows he's the Phantom -- now that Danny knows that Wes knows, he's going to be even more careful not to get caught. He puts in a little extra work in both Fenton and Phantom - another layer, perhaps a jacket, as Phantom, and baggier pants and boots he never wears as Fenton. His hood stays up in the daytime.

He was already putting in some extra effort to appear creepy and unsettling as Phantom - things like crouching low, tense movements, fluid movements. If he's perched on something he does a kinda-crawl like movement - think a mix between a bear and a gorilla crawl. It's weird, creepy. And he stares. Danny's mastered the art of not needing to blink for long periods of time, so if he sees you and sticks around he stares. It doesn't help that you can't see his eyes that well through his mask - its just two piercing green.

It helps endear him to ghosts and his enemies though - the annoying little human boy is engaging in ghost culture! That's eliciting some form of begrudging respect from his enemies.

And then compare that creepy, almost cryptid-like behavior to Fenton who, while considered a freak, really isn't anything more than just some dorky weirdo with occasional heart problems. He's kinda unsettling - he has those 'stares into soul' eyes - but its leveled by the fact that he's kinda just... dorky. It reads as normal, awkward kid behavior, and then gets disregarded completely as he gets older and it bleeds into 'very chill teenager'. Fenton being Phantom doesn't compute that much.

Paulina: you think Phantom is Fenton? Wes: I don't think, I know he is! I have proof-- Star: Just because they both have black hair doesn't mean they're the same, Wes. That's like saying Paulina and Manson are sisters because they also have black hair.

Wes's attempts to out him as Phantom means that Danny is a little more wary of him than he is in canon, since his vigilante identity isn't an entirely different ghost form its just him, so he has to be careful about where or when he takes off his mask in case Wes is around. Especially during daytime fights.

But other than that he has a lot of time messing with him. Wes is trying to convince his table group at lunch that Fenton = Phantom (again) and Danny just so happens to be within earshot of him and starts making fun of the idea.

"You think I'm Phantom?" and he's got the most disbelieving grin on his face that's only partially convincing. "That's totally bogus, man. The Phantom famously doesn't get along with my parents, why would I be a ghost hunter and not work with them?"

He has this most shit-eating, delighted look in his eyes that Wes knows is pure manic glee at being able to mess with him and get away with it. Wes is going to strangle him.

"Besides, dude, did you forget I have a heart condition? I can't be chasing around ghosts - my heart would give out from all that running and jumping."

Although Danny can get really serious at the flip of a coin if need be - especially with Wes when he gets too pushy about him being Phantom. A notable instance is when Wes cornered him in an empty bathroom to again talk about him being Phantom.

Except Danny, who had been working on a really difficult cold case about the death of a child, and hadn't gotten much sleep in the last 72 hours, plus a plethora of other stuff (like recently acquiring Damian, fighting ghosts, etc), wasn't in the mood to entertain him. It ended with Weston getting pinned to the wall and lowkey threatened by Danny. He apologizes for it afterwards but it's not forgotten.

Additional note: Wes Weston having a crush on Danny Fenton is a hilarious trope to me so Wes absolutely has a crush on Danny and the only one in denial about it is him. Everyone else - except Danny because he's more focused on the fact that Wes knows his identity, and has other things to worry about - knows about it, and everyone chalks up his obsession with Danny as being part of said crush.

Wes' friend: you know usually when you have a crush on someone you normally confess, maybe ask them out, pine from afar....

Wes: i dont--

Wes's friend: not accuse him of being the local ghost-fighting vigilante. Seriously, wes! His parents are ghost hunters!

Wes: i do not have a crush

Wes's friend: and ghosts aren't real! everyone knows that's a lie!

next up

Dan! Or Dante, but i'll call him Dan for the time being. Even if I dislike the name with a passion. Much like Wrath from my Childhood Friends au, Dan here is pretty different from his canon counterpart. Mostly because I wanted to experiment with Dan and different interpretations of him, and I thought; hey, where no better than an au where Danny has no powers?

so, dan? Dan is not a combination of Danny and Vlad's ghost halves -- now, don't get me wrong, danny still ends up under vlad's custody care after the death of his family, but he just doesn't fuse with Vlad's ghost.

So, what happened? What happened is that Vlad convinces a grieving Danny that he should let him make him a halfa (despite the fact that he has no idea how) because the he could go find his family in the ghost zone. Danny is in no mental state for any kind of experiments, but his hope and want to see his family and friends again gets him to agree.

It backfires. Vlad doesn't make Danny a halfa, he just ends up killing him completely. Danny comes back instantly as a ghost however, and enraged over being lied to, betrayed, and murdered, ends up killing Vlad in furious cold blood. He doesn't fuse with his ghost half, there's no ghost half to fuse with.

So a grieving ghost, Danny flees into the ghost zone. And, in this iteration, doesn't end up destroying the world. So how does TUE end up happening? Well, ten years later - with Danny remaining a forever 14 year old ghost - Dan ends up finding out about time travel. He finds out a way to travel back into the past, and he does.

So he can take over his past self's life. Danny just thinks he's fighting a weird doppleganger ghost, but ends up getting overshadowed. It's like being in a weird limbo, and Danny's not really sure what's happening - but his friends figure something out. After all, its been ten years since dan saw his friends, something has to give.

And that episode happens. Danny ends up meeting clockworth, beats Dan. But, well, it's not really happily ever after - somewhat. Ehh.. sorta. Danny's been traumatized by Dan's overshadowing - making him realize that despite everything, there are things ghosts can do that danny simply cannot and he needs to prepare for it. Onset paranoia, anyone?

Dan tells them his whole tragic backstory - there's a chance for redemption here, for him. For forgiveness. Not immediately, not yet, but its there. And he doesn't want to go back to the future - he's alone there. He's tired of being alone.

But he ends up being convinced - he needs to learn to look forward, not cling back. He can build himself up again, find new family. He doesn't have to be alone. So Dan goes back to the future.

"But come tell me if Vlad's giving you trouble --" and he smiles something wicked, "I'd be happy to handle him again"

and finally

not so much as any concrete thoughts as it is just me being emotional over Danny and Damian's brotherhood in this au and also Danny's hands. Again.

lIKE.. I put it in the tags of my reblog of my "danny's scarred hands' ficlet but im putting it here and its just?? Danny grabbing the blade of Damian's sword. Him grabbing the sword multiple times despite the fact that he knows it will hurt, that he will hurt himself. That he will keep hurting himself until Damian himself stops.

its just like??? whats it mean to spill your own blood just so that this little boy you've just met won’t have to ever again. he doesn't know any english and he is hurting you and yet you take him home and get him new clothes. he runs away and you go looking for him, every single time. you teach yourself arabic first so that you can converse with him.

this boy is a clone and so are you. you're a clone of his father he's a clone of your son - by nature of your existence this is your child. except its not your child, you don't have one, its just a little boy who happens to share the same dna as you. and you take him home and he becomes your little brother.

what's it mean when its you whose been hurt rather than him? whats it mean when you’d hurt yourself again just so that he can start to heal, so that he knows that he’s worth it? you cut your hands on his blade, catch its swing, just so this boy can know, can learn, that there’s someone who will bleed for him. that there's someone who will scar their hands just to make sure that you wont scar yours.

you’re a bleeding heart and its spilling out onto your palms. you take bloody fingers and wrap it around your little brother’s and say "its okay. it’s okay. you’re safe. no one will hurt you here. i promise. i wont let them. no one will hurt you so long as i'm around."

"put the sword down. i can show you how. let me show you how."

and damian in this au just reminds me of the song "eight" by sleeping at last. like?? the lYRICS. he is sO "eight" coded

'show me how to lay my sword down for long enough to let you through.' 'here i am. pry me open. what do you want to know?' 'im just a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut and bury my innocence' 'but here's a map. here's a shovel. here's my achilles' heel. im all in palms out. im at your mercy now and im ready to begin. i am strong enough to let you in.'

"by nature of our existence we are father and son, but by choice we are brothers. we are brothers we are brothers we are brothers. and i love you"

[lauraneedstochill]

My first choice (part 2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eyed prince to fall in love with. pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~8500 (this is why I divided it into 2 parts lmao) warnings: friends to lovers, more angst (death of a parent, attempted harassment), hurt/comfort, an embarrassing amount of softness, Aegon is the smartest one for once author’s note: this is heavily inspired by “Little women” (2019) and Amy March in particular (read the rest of my long-ass explanation in part 1). again, I apologize for the angst! it gets worse before it gets better.

 Part 2. In a room full of art I stare at you.

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Aemond. Maybe you were too blind to notice until it was too late or maybe you were doomed from the start. From the moment when the boy, who everyone deemed to be intimidating and reclusive, bent down to you to offer help without any hesitation. The second-born son of the King, tall and close-mouthed, surely had more important things to do than waste time on a strange girl crying over her stupid dress — and yet, he only showed you solicitude, asking for nothing in return.

You thought that mayhaps you owed him, and were seeking the opportunity to return the favor. Or at least that’s how you tried to justify the fact that you were looking for him every chance you got. You often found a reason to chat with Aemond during dinners and feasts, feeling bad for him spending time on his own — and you learned that he was very easy to talk to. You made sure to visit the training yard if he was there and sometimes stayed to watch him train for hours, even — or especially — when everyone else already left. His tenacity and strength had certain allure but under all those layers, you saw a lonely boy whose only friend was probably his dragon.

Despite the circumstances and his preferred solitude, Aemond never rejected your company, however sudden it might have been. Even when Aegon foolishly suggested playing hide and seek one evening, bored out of his mind, and you busted into the library and stumbled upon Aemond, who looked like he had no interest in silly games. And yet, when you awkwardly asked for the best place to hide at, he guided you to the enclosed area of the reading room. It was dimly lit by just a few candles and, somewhere between feeling uncomfortable and getting scared, you reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away. Furthermore, he stayed with you and cheered you up with stories about Old Valyria, making you forget about any childish fears.

As the two of you have grown older, you often heard people being frightened by Aemond’s disposition but you found there to be no ground for that. He’s never been rude to you nor had he lost his temper, regardless of circumstances — and the day you saw him without the eyepatch for the first time was the prime example of that. It was getting late and Aegon had too much to drink and, while running around in a drunken stupor, he cut his hand somewhere in the yard. Luckily, the wound wasn’t too deep but he was bleeding and refused to get help, against your best wishes. He was babbling that scars adorn a man — and then, in an attempt to escape you chasing him, he barged into Aemond’s chambers. You ran in merely a second after, with explanations at the ready, and were met with his younger brother standing there, looking startled. It took you a second to realize he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch.

“My scar will be easier to hide,” Aegon giggled, not recognizing the gravity of the situation.

It was the only time you had to make an effort not to slap him in the face. You thought it was mostly a secondhand embarrassment, which was part of the experience of being Aegon’s friend, but the look on Aemond’s face, hurt and humiliated, also made your heart ache.

“His scar is a reminder of his bravery and the strength of his character that he should only be proud of,” you gave Aegon a death stare. “Yours will be a reminder of your idiocy.”

It seemed to work as his smile vanished and he even muttered an apology, leaving hurriedly to call for the maester. When you turned to Aemond, he already had his eyepatch on, and you fought the urge to come and take him by the hand again. You didn’t want to bother him at such a late hour, so you opted to offer an apology, too, and leave him be.

“His behavior was unworthy. But I meant what I said,” you turned to Aemond on your way out. “And the sapphire looks very pretty,” you could swear you saw a trace of a smile on his face but you chose not to think much of it.

With every encounter, sudden or not, and every conversation, most of which were too short for your liking, you were making more room for Aemond in your heart. You should’ve known you were a lost cause when you actually told yourself — out loud, with hands grabbing the edges of your table — “I will not fall in love with him.” At that point, you already did. He always worked so hard to be seen — and you only had eyes for him all along.

You hid your true feelings well enough for anyone to take notice — but your father was no fool. He also knew better than to meddle with whatever your thinking process was. So he watched from afar for quite some time, until you started catching his curious glances on you every time you went to talk to Aemond. Predictably, after yet another feast he could not resist bringing up the topic.

“Did the royal menace have too many cups of wine again? Haven’t seen him this evening,” he adored Aegon whole-heartedly, and you suspected that their shared love for crude humor was the main reason for that. You didn’t mind.

“Wasn’t that many, actually,” you chuckled. “But he asked me and Aemond to help him to his chambers, said he wasn’t in the mood today.”

“Well, you seem to really enjoy Aemond’s company. I assume that the feeling is mutual?” he looked expressively at you.

Your face grew hot at his words. You also felt your heart break just a little.

“We are merely friends,” you told him, your smile too tense to be believable.

There was a shadow of concern in your father’s gaze, followed by a sad sigh.

“You will let me know if anything changes, though?” he mustered a smile in return and his was much brighter than yours.

“You will be the first one to know,” you promised as he came closer to bring you into a bear hug. You never spoke of it again.

Surprisingly, the only other person who seemed to have suspicions about the nature of your and Aemond’s relationship was his father, the King. You didn’t think he was aware of your existence, and even when your friendship with Aegon grew stronger and you became a regular guest at the castle, you soon realized Viserys barely paid any mind to his younger kids’ whereabouts. You would catch a glimpse of him in the halls and curtsy out of politeness but didn’t expect him to notice. You got too comfortable with his absence — so much so, that one day, when Aegon was carrying your supplies and humorously complained about the lack of art in the castle, you blithely suggested painting a portrait of the King. The last thing you expected was for said man to step out of the corner.

“I would be delighted,” he cut right to the chase. “Lady Y/N, isn’t it?”

He didn’t look scary up close, his face wrinkled and a tad too tired, but quite benevolent. He simply asked if you would be content with drawing him on the Iron Throne and you agreed, just as easily. Truth be told, you didn’t think he would follow up on his offer — being the King and all that, but he sent a carriage down to fetch you literally the next day. Viserys took the task with juvenile ardor, bombarding you with questions — what pose to take, what paint do you use, how quickly will it dry and how did you learn to draw. After he was satisfied with the answers, he changed the subject.

“My wife considers you to have a positive influence on my eldest son,” he pointed out with ill-concealed interest.

“I deeply appreciate her trust but I believe that he is capable of changing on his own,” you corrected him courtly.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he disagreed with a mischievous grin. “I’ve only heard good words about your guidance. It seems that you rein him back so easily, you would’ve made for a fine wife.”

You silently groaned at his comment.

“Your grace, I can assure you, our relationship is strictly of a friendly nature.”

“Oh, I know, I have seen you two,” he said, laughing, and when you peered at him, you saw that it wasn’t his usual uncomfortable-looking crooked grin but an actual genuine laugh.

“Shall you ever lay an eye on any other of my sons,” Viserys continued, much to your surprise. “Do not hesitate to tell me,” and his face suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

You ducked behind the canvas so he didn’t see your heated cheeks.

His suggestion lodged in your memory and even though you wouldn’t dare to actually approach the King, you held out hope that maybe he would give Aemond a similar hint. But months passed, Viserys’s condition drastically worsened, and for whatever reason, he never mended the relationship with his children. And eventually, your hope was gone.

You didn’t lie to Aemond when you told him about having power over who you love. But you failed to mention that said power has its limits — and doesn’t guarantee that your feelings won’t be one-sided. You learned that lesson the hard way when you had to face up to the reality you were in. Your love for Aemond seemed to be as infinite as the ocean — and you had to fit it in a fragile vessel of your heart. At first, you felt the waves raging at the mere glance of his, at every gesture of his goodwill or just upon hearing his voice. The storm of your feelings would splash over the rocks of your self-control but you survived the roaring torrent of love, time after time. The rough ocean grew calm over the years as you came to terms with being in love with someone who didn’t love you back.

You did choose to harbor feelings for Aemond, and you had no regrets about that. But when adulthood came with its own responsibilities that you had to focus on, all your energy was put into finding a husband. You were aware that your choice would have a major impact on your family as their stability depended on it. You approached the issue in a cold-hearted manner, prioritizing the duty above all else. Mayhaps, you were too calculated in your pursuit, and that was how you ended up accepting the courtship of a man who had nothing to give but his wealth.

When it comes to Jason, he never ceases to evoke a few feelings, too, but none of them are pleasant. His arrogance is the first thing that catches the eye — he’s wrapped in it and wears it with pride as if it’s another title of his. You often have to bite your tongue and fake a smile in response to his dismissive remarks and borderline vulgar comments. It doesn’t help that his self-esteem is inflated beyond your comprehension, and if only he could put his own face on their House’s sigil, he would. You are grateful that he keeps his hands to himself but you notice him getting quite handsy with the maids, and it gives you an unsettling feeling. His behavior is so disdainful and frivolous, you have no doubts that once you are married, you will be merely an accessory to him, a pretty wife to show off to his friends without taking your opinion into account. Showing off is the one thing he does best — and each time you can’t help but compare him to Aemond who doesn’t even know how to take a compliment. You find yourself thinking about the prince every time Jason comes by, and these thoughts help you get through tiresome promenades with the lord and endure boring dinners with him.

But after your last conversation with Aemond, you force yourself to stop thinking about him altogether. That decision is remorseless but you believe it’s for the better — or at least that’s what you convince yourself to think after you run out of the garden and into your carriage, only caring about getting home as soon as possible. You pretend that nothing happened, lying to your parents that the prince was too busy and you had to return earlier than planned. And then you lock yourself in your chambers, with hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sound of crying. A small part of you hopes that Aemond will come to you the same day and explain himself. But he doesn’t. When you don’t hear from him for another two days, you come to the conclusion that he regretted his sudden outburst. And that his words actually held no meaning.

Cutting Aemond out of your life does seem to be attainable with some time, and you perceive it as just another task, another skill you can master. But getting him out of your head seems like an impossible goal from the start. You are so used to keeping memories of him, cherishing each and every one, you can’t just erase them all at once. You try your best, you do so with ferocious persistence, but there’s always some annoying little reminder ready to surface and catch you off guard at the most inopportune moment.

It gets even harder when four days later you find yourself sitting next to Jason who is even more presumptuous than usual. At this point, you feel like your nerves are at the limit, so you can’t even find it in yourself to keep up the act. You push your food around the plate, jumping from one pointless thought to another: the tasteless meal, the barely visible crack in your cup, the revolting tone of the lord’s voice. You feel your mother staring at you, clearly displeased with your attitude, yet Jason is oblivious, too wrapped up in bragging about his winery — or whatever else he is talking about, you have no idea because you stopped paying attention about twenty minutes ago.

You think if you stay by his side any longer, you will be physically sick.

So you get up from the table — may be a bit too dramatic for your own liking — and muster out a weak excuse:

“My apologies, I am in need of fresh air.”

You leave before anyone has a chance to stop you.

It seems like an act of disobedience but there’s so much freedom in it, you feel that you can finally take a breath. And you do exactly that once you reach the balcony, several corridors away from the dining hall that felt stuffed with Jason’s ego. As you stand there, soaking up the last rays of the sun, you can’t ignore the obvious question — how is it even possible to marry someone you absolutely cannot tolerate. You never had illusions about the nature of your relationship with him but you at least hoped there would be some ground to build your future on. At yet, right now it looks like you are trying to lay a foundation in the quicksand. For a man of a noble lineage, Jason knows too little of what nobility actually is, and you have enough self-respect to not give him explanations. The prospect of marrying him makes your duty feel like a burden, and you contemplate if you should even take the risk.

You are lost in your thoughts until you hear a thin voice:

“Do you know where the sun lands?”

You turn to find your sister Alyna standing at the door, in her long white nightgown and barefoot, her eyes unnaturally large for her baby-like face. She always talks like that, too thoughtful for her young age, and sometimes she reminds you of Helaena. There you go, another connection to Aemond.

“I do not, my sweetling. Wherever that place is, it’s a well-guarded secret,” you comb her curly hair with your fingers as her curious eyes study your face.

“Maybe it doesn't want to be seen,” she deduces. “Just like you don't.”

Her ability to get straight to the point sometimes blindsides you. It’s also quite liberating to talk to someone who hasn’t yet learned the skill of pretense, and she may be the only sibling of yours with no ulterior motives or hidden agenda. Alyna tilts her head, signaling that she isn’t enjoying your touch anymore — and when you remove your hand, she says, out of the blue:

“Just like Ser Lannister doesn’t.”

You stare at her in bewilderment, and only then notice that the hallway behind her is empty. It dawns on you that Alyna’s nanny Dorea is nowhere to be found. She is only a couple of years older than you, meek and quiet, her trusting nature ever so defenseless — but she is also very pretty. Too pretty for her own good, as your mother likes to say.

You feel a wave of nausea again. This time, it’s followed by a sense of dread curdling in your stomach.

“What did he do?” your voice comes out unusually calm, in striking contrast with how you are really feeling.

“I heard him talking to Dorea outside my chambers. I wanted to join the conversation but he asked me to leave,” her brows slightly furrow. “He said there are some things I am not supposed to see.”

It may be the first thing you and Jason can agree on, you think. It is also the only thing because you certainly will never agree to marry him — and that realization frees you of any false politeness and self-restraint.

“What are those things?” Alyna naively asks, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I shall go and ask him,” you pat her on the cheek. “But you stay here, alright? I will be back before you know it.”

Usually, it would take about a minute to reach your sister’s chambers, but you cover the distance twice as fast. You are a couple of feet away when you hear muffled voices — one is demanding, the other one is scared, and both are well-known to you. You grasp the situation in no time and run to quickly open the door. When you walk in, you feel a flare-up of anger at the sight: Jason grabbed Dorea by the hips, trying to pull her closer, as she weakly protests, her palms pushing at his chest in an attempt to get away. The squeak of the door makes them turn their heads to you, and you see the distressed look on the nanny’s face.

And then their gazes fall behind your back, and Dorea gets horrified.

You easily guess the reason for that — your younger sister isn’t very good at following orders. So Alyna mumbles, standing next to you and looking at her nanny:

“I do not think she likes it.”

“Neither do I,” you throw Jason a baleful stare. “Let her go and get out.”

He removes his hands — so carelessly, it almost seems like he’s offended by your suggestion of his wrongdoing. Dorea immediately comes to your side, ashamed and distraught.

“Did he hurt you?” you inquire, helping to adjust her dress.

“My lady, I think you misinterpreted —” Jason tries to say but you shut him off.

“I am not talking to you,” you scowl in his direction. Your face softens when you ask Dorea again: “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, sheepishly trying to explain:

“I didn’t do anything, I-I didn’t want to, and he said... He said he is a lord and I sh-should be flattered.”

Not only did Jason has the audacity to pull that off but he also wanted to do so at your little sister’s chambers — and you simmer at the thought.

“I believe you,” you gently stroke her shoulder. “I promise you will never see him again.”

“These are some unrealistic expectations,” Jason sneers, walking to you but his grin dies down when you look at him again.

“I know your opinion of women isn’t very high — trust me, the feeling is mutual — but you cannot seriously believe you will fool me,” you sense that now he isn’t pleased with your attitude but you don’t care. “When I told you to get out, I meant it. You are not welcome in this house.”

“That doesn’t sound like a wise decision to make if we are to be wed,” Jason contemptuously hisses.

“Then I guess the wedding is off,” you glare defiance at him. “But whoever you end up marrying, I hope she outlives you. Just so she can spit on your grave,” the last part is meant only for him to hear.

And he definitely does as his face reddens with rage. Jason roughly grabs you by the hand, and your nose fills with the stench of wine when he speaks:

“You are in no position to make demands,” he drawls. “Your family is in debt up to its ears, you little halfwit, so I suggest you choose your words very carefully.”

While he doesn’t see it, Alyna looks between you two, and, out of the corner of your eye, you notice her frowning. She doesn’t do well with conflicts as they upset her deeply, which can only trigger one reaction. Before you can say anything, a high-pitched scream shatters the room, echoing through the whole house.

Jason removes his hand within a second, looking shocked, but Alyna stands innocently with her mouth closed as if nothing happened. Your parents come to her chambers in the blink of an eye.

“What is wrong?” your mother looks at you all uncomprehendingly.

“Ser Lannister got lost,” you cooly explain. “He is already leaving.”

“And why is that?” your father glares at him with suspicion.

You want to spare Dorea the humiliation so you pause for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. But Alyna has no understanding of what a maiden’s honor is — and she loudly proclaims:

“Ser Lannister was touching Dorea, and she didn’t like it.”

No one in the room needs an explanation for that.

“You shameless scoundrel!” your father roars at Jason, who unsurprisingly isn’t as courageous as before.

“Ser, there clearly has been a mistake — ”

“It was a mistake to let you in,” your father rudely interrupts him. “You won’t set foot in my house ever again. Get out of here before I make you!”

Jason doesn’t need to be told twice and storms out of the room as your father’s gaze follows him. He stands with hands clenched into fists, his nostrils flaring with anger.

“Pompous jerk,” he mumbles under his breath. “And to think that I was willing to give him my daughter’s hand...!” his voice breaks, hoarse with ire, and you notice a vein pop on his forehead. You have never seen him so furious.

“He’s been dealt with,” you cautiously say to ease the tension. “That shouldn’t be a cause for your concern anymore.”

He turns to you, his eyes bloodshot and breathing heavy. As you step closer, you hear whistling sounds with his every breath, and his gaze gets absent. You realize that something is wrong as he opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out.

“Father, are you alright?”

He places a hand over his heart, trying to inhale, a look of fear in his eyes. The chain of events is too sudden to comprehend: his breathing begins to wheeze as he squirms, falls flat on his back and convulses.

And then your evening turns out to be way worse than you could’ve ever imagined. A week later Aegon wakes up at an ungodly hour — and he’s fueled by sole determination to put an end to everyone’s misery. Surely, he must be the only sane person in his house since all his family members seem to be oblivious to what is going on between you and Aemond. Aegon, however, can use his eyes for their intended purpose — and it is clear as day to him that you and his brother are in love with each other.

He caught on to that pretty fast, although the signs were not that obvious at first: you often smile to people purely out of politeness and Aemond may not show his true feelings even under threat of death. So Aegon kept secretly observing you two, taking note of fleeting glances and light touches, of the way you would relax in Aemond’s presence, the way he was always too eager to help you with whatever you needed, and how you two would gravitate toward each other. Both his brother and his best friend were annoyingly stubborn about making their own decisions so Aegon didn’t mean to interrupt — or at least he tried not to. But when your evident mutual pining stretched into years, Aegon started losing his patience.

In the beginning, he initiated small things, asking Aemond to come and greet you (“Oh, I just woke up! And you are already dressed for the occasion”), to deliver you his hand-written message (“Yes, it is incredibly important and I trust no one but you!” — it was his doodling of Aemond), to keep you company during the feast while Aegon stepped out for a moment (he didn’t come back). He asked him to switch places at dinner (so you and Aemond could sit together), to help find the books you wanted (“All those years of you reading should be good for something”), to pick up the portrait of his children (“They are your nephews, is it so hard?! No, I am not being dramatic!”). A couple of times he even pretended to be way more drunk than he actually was just so you and Aemond could help him to his chambers and spend some time alone in the process. None of that worked. At some point, he seriously contemplated locking you both in a room but then came to the conclusion that you would rather team up to find a way out than confess your feelings. Truly, it seemed hopeless, and Aegon thought that maybe he should give up.

But as of recently he couldn’t help but notice that something was clearly off between you and Aemond, although the younger prince refused to talk about it, and you simply stopped visiting the castle. He decided to give it a day or two, hoping that you would sort things out and refusing to even consider the opposite. A week passed and nothing changed, and Aegon cannot bear looking at Aemond’s sour face any longer. So the older prince comes up with a plan.

He is unexpectedly the first one at the breakfast table and everyone who walks in shoots him a surprised glance. They are amazed even more to see that Aegon isn’t drinking which is as rare as a miracle. Aemond comes last and he is the only one who doesn’t notice the change, too wrapped up in his thoughts. Another thing that goes unnoticed is the gleam of sadness on their mother’s face.

Five minutes in, Aegon clears his throat to attract everyone’s attention.

“So, I was thinking,” he drawls loudly.

“That does not sound good,” Otto mutters, unimpressed, which Aegon chooses to ignore and continues.

“Lady Baratheon’s poor taste in men shouldn’t be an obstacle in our way of reaching the grand goal.”

“Which is...?” Otto asks while the younger prince doesn’t move an ear.

“To find a lady worthy of my brother, of course!” Aegon tries his best to say it with a straight face.

Aemond spares him a glance. “I didn’t know you took much interest in that.”

“I always have your best interest in mind,” Aegon slaps him on the shoulder earning a disgruntled hum in return.

“I was just thinking if we should go over the list of requirements once more,” Aegon suggests.

“I don’t have a li—”

“Of course you do!” another slap. “At the very least, she should be of a noble kind. Am I right?”

“Sure,” Aemond absentmindedly agrees.

“And we are definitely looking for someone who is keen on reading.”

“Yes,” Aemond rolls his eye and looks at his plate, already showing no interest in the conversation. That is exactly what Aegon wants — and he starts talking a bit faster:

“Someone with a flexible nature...”

“U-hmm.”

“And with a kind heart...”

“Yes.”

“A great listener...”

“Uh-huh”

“Who will attend to your every need...”

“Sure.”

“And may even be of indescribable beauty...”

“Hmm.”

“...And you will still be miserable because you love Y/N.”

“Yes,” Aemond says without thinking — and then it’s too late to take his word back because everyone’s eyes are already on him. When he turns to his brother, Aegon has a shit-eating grin on his face:

“You are welcome.”

Alicent looks genuinely confused. “Aemond, but why haven’t you mentioned it?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for years,” Aegon snorts, and Otto raises an eyebrow.

“Years?” his grandsire questions.

“I almost gave up on him,” Aegon keeps talking while his brother just sits there, eye glued to the table.

“She was the one who drew the portrait of our father,” Helaena cheerfully speaks up. “And he kept it.”

“He did,” Alicent nods and gives her son a sympathetic look. “Aemond, she is an admirable young lady. No one would have spoken against it if only you —”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Aemond cuts her off, averting his gaze. “She is to be betrothed to Ser Lannister, and I do not intend to ruin her plans.”

“You cannot be serious!” Aegon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shall you find the courage to propose, she will immediately reject him!”

“She already did,” Alicent avows, to everyone’s surprise.

Aemond looks up at his mother in an instant.

“Did she?” he asks in disbelief.

Alicent gives him a wan smile.

“A week ago, yes. It is rumored that his behavior... left much to be desired,” she explains half-heartedly. Her face, however, doesn’t show any signs of happiness.

“That seems like a reason to celebrate but it doesn’t sound like it,” Aegon looks at her questioningly, and Aemond tenses up in anticipation.

Alicent dithers as her face falls, eyes getting woeful and voice feeble.

“Her father fell ill that very day. Some say he got too upset with the whole situation, and I...,” she takes a deep breath. “I received a message this morning. He passed away three nights ago.”

Everyone falls silent, their faces showing shock that is quickly replaced by sadness.

“Seven hells,” Aegon mumbles.

Aemond doesn’t utter a word, feeling his heart sinking. He knows that you’ve always been your father’s daughter, and the prince cannot even begin to imagine how heartbroken you are right now. He should’ve been there for you, he thinks, full with remorse and guilt.

“You should go,” Aegon turns to him, not a hint of jesting in his voice. “We may give her some time to grieve, but I will gladly take Sunfyre out for —”

“Why would you need to?” Aemond gives him a puzzled look. “I can take Vhagar.”

Aegon emits a long-drawn groan and says to no one in particular:

“And to think he is the smartest one? I am having doubts”, he then glances at Aemond with reproach. “I am sure her mourning family will not at all get terrified at the sight of your monstrous dragon.”

His brother mulls over the idea.

“It is not safe to fly drunk.”

“I will be stone-cold sober.”

“You believe both of us will fit into the saddle?” 

“We will fit just fine, can you stop with your excuses?! I am being reasonable for once, and you are making me regret it!”

“I don’t think it would be wise,” Otto cuts in their bickering, and both princes turn to him.

He holds pause with a blank stare before a sly smile crawls out on his face.

“I would rather recommend the prince goes right away. We don’t want her family to make any rushed decisions,” their grandsire advises, earning a sign of relief from Aegon, who jumps out of his chair.

“We’re leaving this very second! Do I need to drag you out of your —”

“You do not,” Aemond stands up in a hurry — and then Aegon still grabs him by the hand, pulling his brother out of the room.

Alicent gazes fondly after them.

“It was very kind of you,” she says to her father without looking at him.

Otto thinks that, with how well you’ve been handling Aegon, marrying you to Aemond would be a blessing. Because gods know, he is fed up with them both.

On their way to the Dragonpit Aegon can barely hold back his excitement but his brother’s mind is clearly elsewhere. The older prince lets Aemond take time to gather his thoughts and doesn’t bother him along the road. But once they reach the cavernous building and both pop out of the carriage, Aegon decides some encouragement would be fitting. 

“Have I ever told you how I met her? That day at the feast?”

Mentioning your name always works wonders — Aemond turns to him in a flash.

“I was jesting around and she was the only one who didn’t laugh at my jokes. At all. Just stood there with a straight face and ignored me. Can you imagine?” 

Aemond does know the unimpressed look you usually give Aegon, and it causes him to let out a dull chuckle.

“Took me good five minutes to even make her smile — and, frankly, my success didn’t last very long. Pretty sure half of my jokes landed flat. But you know what was the real issue?” Aegon’s smile is melancholic. “Most of the evening she kept asking about you.”

Aemond looks like the very epitome of heartbreak. Not only was he blind, he was also an idiot, he realizes.

“I know, I should’ve told you sooner,” Aegon gives him an apologetic look.

Aemond shakes his head. “I should’ve told her sooner.”

“Well, it’s only been what, seven years?” his brother chortles weakly while the dragon keepers finally bring out Sunfyre, and the dragon casts Aemond a curious look.

Aegon approaches the beast first, running his hand over the scales that shine bright in the sunlight, and the prince can never get tired of that blinding beauty. But his excitement mingles with another feeling.

“I value her friendship, you do know that, right?” he squints at Aemond, who simply nods.

“This is my way of saying that if you mess it up, I might push you off my dragon on our way back,” Aegon casually remarks, grabbing the rope to climb up.

Aemond falters with answering, reluctant to admit.

“There is a chance that I already messed it up.”

Aegon looks down at his brother and gives him a stern glare.

“Unmess it, then.” You don’t remember much from the past week, your days and nights blurred into one another. The only thing that stays on your mind is your father’s face — you can still see it so clearly, with his gentle gaze and his every wrinkle, the corners of his mouth always upturn like he’s a second away from smiling. You also remember how that face contorted in pain, how his body stiffened, and that scene plays on repeat in your head, over and over. And then there are only pieces of memories, torn and mushed together, and you can’t find it in yourself to sort them out.

You spend all your time at your father’s bedside, with a string of never-ending prayers falling from your lips. They don’t seem to help — and nor do the maester’s efforts, and you lose hope with each passing minute. As hours fly, you get a very bad feeling that soon turns into blood-curdling awareness. Deep down, you know what’s to come, and you hate yourself for it. You think you will never stop crying but by the time the maester declares your father’s demise, there are no tears left. Death has many faces — none of them looked at you with mercy.

Your mother wails, overtaken by despair, your sisters don’t leave her side, eyes puffy and full of sorrow, and you are sure that you look the same — yet you feel completely empty. There’s a cleft in a place of your heart, and all the feelings seemed to flow out, leaving you drained and emotionless, but it brings you no relief. Everything in your house reminds you of your father, his presence tangible in the rooms and in the halls, his image still as clear as a reflection in the mirror. The memories of him crawl out of every corner, seep from under the doors, fall on you along with the dust you brush off his things that you can’t make yourself take away.

Stacks of hardcovers with bookmarks in the middle.

The unfinished cup of wine.

The long grey coat hanging on the back of his chair.

Piles of letters left unanswered.

Parchments, ink and a quill that he will never use again.

All the pieces of him that you can’t look at, don’t want to look at — yet it’s all you see, and there’s is no hiding from it. You feel trapped in your own house, and you wait for the walls to collapse so maybe under the weight of them you will find some peace. You are restless in your grief, you are drowning in it.

The day of the funeral leaves a blank space in your memory, void of colors and sounds apart from everyone’s crying. The ceremony is rushed and there is only a handful of family members since your mother couldn’t bring herself to tell everyone yet. You don’t blame her for it — you think she’s too afraid to say it out loud, afraid that speaking the words will make them real, and she’ll have to finally accept his death. You have no problem with acceptance, you just don’t know how to move on. How to stay strong when you are shattered beyond repair.

Your home now feels like a coffin but everyone expects you to be in charge, so you force yourself to. Merely an hour after his body was buried in soil wet with rain, you find yourself sorting out his papers. You look through his diary, his scribbled notes, the calculations he made in attempts to stabilize the emptying coffers. He’s always been the responsible one, keeping count and cutting costs, planning for the future — and yet he’s been robbed of it. None of it makes sense to you and your father isn’t there to teach you. You clench your teeth in frustration, and it makes you want to put your head through a wall.

You push through the second and the third day. You give orders to the maids, who walk on eggshells around the house, sharing concerned looks. You take it upon yourself to bring meals to your mother and all but spoon-feed her so she at least will have some energy to get up from bed. She doesn’t — while you want nothing more than to get away. You’ve had a fair share of responsibilities your entire life but now there’s an abundance of them and it puts you in a chokehold, and you are all alone in your discomfort which brings you no respite at all.

On the fourth day you wake up feeling like the walls are closing in and you can’t breathe, the need to leave anchoring in your lungs. You don’t want to waste another second as you put on a coat right on top of your nightgown, frightened that each moment of stalling might lead to you being dragged into the same routine again. But the house is asleep, and the sun has barely risen when you tiptoe out of your room. You only wake up one maid, telling her you’ll go for a walk so your sudden absence doesn’t come off as a deed of cruelty.

You step outside and close the door behind your back, taking a slow, deep inhale. And just when the guilt is about to sneak up on you — you dart off into the morning fog.

The air is fresh and cooling against your skin as you run away from your house and through the trees, not minding the branches or the damp ground. You breathe the crisp air in, and it makes your body feel weightless, and you speed up, leaving no chance for the responsibilities to catch up with you. Patches of the forest, splattered with all shades of green, bushes and weeds that graze your knees — you pay them no attention as your feet carry you further away, up the hill, to the most remote place you can think of. You don’t know how long it takes for you to reach the narrow wooden bridge and cross the remaining field that ends with a cliff, but when you finally do, your feet ache and your lungs burn and you gulp air.

The sky is draped by the light layer of clouds but the blue of it stretches as far as the eyes can reach, and the movement of the sea can be seen in the distance. The morning is still with silence and it welcomes you, the fresh breeze encircling your body. The feeling of it isn’t gentle as the wind instantly bites every part of your skin that is covered with sweat. You should’ve worn thicker layers, you shouldn’t have rushed, maybe you shouldn’t have come at all — but you are too tired of thinking, of restrictions. Of yourself.

You let the cold seep in and pierce you to the marrow as you watch the waves meeting the horizon. You then close your eyes, hands coming up to cross over your chest. It’s an oblivion of some sort — with no demands and no tears, it’s only you and the wind. The empty space around you matches the emptiness in your heart, and the beating of it sounds like a hollow note. You feel nothing, you feel numb, but it’s so tranquilizing, you can’t help but give in, just to stop brooding for a few minutes — or maybe hours, you care not.

In this state of torpor, you almost miss the sound of wings cutting through the air. When you open your eyes, you only catch a shadow hidden by the clouds and a glimpse of gold but it’s still enough to guess. Sunfyre. At any other time, Aegon’s visit would’ve brought you joy yet right now it feels useless against the doldrums of your soul. At least your sisters will be happy to see him, you think, not having the slightest desire to move from your spot. The wind is now howling, the grass is rustling — and then the small measured sound joins the melody of nature. It sounds like someone’s approaching but their step is nearly noiseless. There is only one person who walks like that, and the realization brings you out of your trance.

You turn to Aemond before he can say anything, your gaze meeting his, and he immediately stands still. The distance between you is just like before, and you only now grasp the amount of time that has passed. You haven’t seen him in two weeks — and so much has changed, and nothing is the same — but when you look at Aemond, at every painfully familiar feature of his, your heart twinges. You really, really missed him, and it’s the first thing you feel in fourteen days.

He notes your lack of protest and hesitantly comes toward you, only pausing when he’s at arm’s length. His cheeks are flushed pink from the wind, the collar of his coat raised to the angles of his jaw.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” his tone is filled with sadness. “Even if you despise me.”

“I could never,” you mirror the words he once said but your voice comes out too quiet and blank.

There is only compassion and understanding in his gaze, and you are hungry for both, so you don’t break eye contact. He doesn’t, either, and reaches out a hand — it moves to your shoulder as he says:

“I am so sor—” when his fingers come in contact with you, Aemond suddenly stops talking, and his eye darts to your arm. There is a flicker of confusion on his face that quickly turns into worry.

“You are freezing,” he breathes out, and his worry grows stronger in an instant.

Aemond cautiously guides his hand up and down your arm — you see the movement, clear as day, but you don’t feel it at all.

“I didn’t really notice,” you mumble.

You want to tell him that staying with your family drove you up the wall, that you lost sleep and the nights bring you no rest, that you accept your emptiness and loathe it. But the wind is still howling, your mind is clouded with exhaustion, and you are afraid that Aemond will get angry at you.

Instead, he pleads.

“Let me take you home,” he continues caressing your arm. “Please, let’s go back. You can’t —”

“I don’t want to,” you retort, and all the unsaid words bubble up and pour out. “I could not stay there any longer, it was all too much, I needed a break, I — it just made me feel like...,” your skin finally absorbs the heat of his touch which sends goosebumps down your spine, and you get short of breath.

“Like I wanted to disappear,” you say, voice barely above the whisper.

Your confession hangs in the air, and you catch that same unreadable emotion in his eye. Three heartbeats later Aemond removes his hand, and the absence of it threatens to strip you of your short-lived comfort. But then he unbuttons his coat — and opens his arms to you:

“Disappear here.”

His words break the ice of your numbness, filling your lungs with air — so much of it, you almost feel light-headed. You are cold, and you are lonely, and you missed him. In a heartbeat you fall into his embrace, with the same force one may plummet down from a cliff — only instead of waves, you are welcomed by his warmth, and you instantly sink into it.

Aemond takes you under his coat, gently putting it over your body, and then holds you tight. You instinctively wrap your hands around his waist, nestling against his chest. Your cold palms glide over his shirt, and Aemond involuntarily shivers but doesn’t budge. He starts slowly stroking your back, and you soak up the calmness that radiates off him. His touch is soothing, quieting your mind, and you lose yourself in the serenity that it brings. 

You are both lost in time, standing quietly, as your body gradually warms up and relaxes. You listen to his heartbeat, the rhythm of it even and lulling, and it makes you feel at peace.

When Aemond looks at you clinging to him, his heart swells with so much love, he can barely contain it.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “It all happened so fast, I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. Everyone expects something from me now and I... I wish he was still here.”

“Your father was the kindest man I have ever met,” his voice is laced with sorrow. “I am so sorry you had to go through that. I should’ve come sooner but I only found out this morning.”

“And you came,” you remark delicately. “It’s all that matters.”

You snuggle up to him even more and relish in the feeling of his body close to yours, finding solace in it. You let yourself forget about everything else in the world, comforted by his kindness as he shields you from all the worries and the troubles of life.

“Whose idea was it to take Sunfyre?”

“Aegon’s,” the prince chuckles. “He was very persuasive, I’ll give him that.”

“Is he waiting for you on the hill?”

“He went to see your family, offer his condolences. And maybe complain a little since he didn’t particularly enjoy the flight.”

You try imagining the two of them squeezed into the saddle, and you know Aemond must’ve teased Aegon all the way to your house. You feel the tickling of laughter in your throat but it doesn’t go higher and then dissolves. Still, it’s a start.

“How much do you regret agreeing to that?”

Aemond pauses — and then his low voice vines through your hair:

“Right now, I don’t.”

You feel his heart skipping a beat, and for some reason, his pulse speeds up. You wonder what the reason may be, and your cheeks heat up when you are struck by the answer you can’t dare to hope for.

Or maybe you can.

“I’m not marrying Ser Lannister,” you blurt out, your own chest vibrating with anxiety. 

Aemond pulls away just a bit, only to have a look at you.

“I heard about that,” he reveals. “He was never a good —”

“You are under no obligation to say anything or do anything,” you cut him off, nervously lowering your gaze, because if he tries to pity you it will break your heart all over again, and you cannot bear it right now. “I just... I knew I would never love him. So I believe it’s only for the best.”

You keep babbling, but he hardly listens, his eye fixed on your face. Aemond isn’t sure you fully allow yourself to be this vulnerable with anyone. But it’s his favorite side of yours — with your bashful sincerity, your overly complicated explanations that he understands with ease, your habit of talking with hands, with your searching gaze and your eyes bright with life. It’s all the little things that he adores.

It’s what makes his feelings finally spill over.

“...But we don’t need to talk about it, you don’t need to say anyth—”

His touch is so gentle, you barely register when Aemond puts a finger beneath your chin, lifting your head to look at him — and then suddenly his lips cover yours. His mouth is even warmer than his hands, and he gives you a couple of seconds to make sure you won’t pull away. And then he starts kissing you, slowly and steadily, in a way you could only dream of.

Aemond gently cradles your head, his lips are soft and ardent — they meld with yours, and time freezes and sounds fade as you melt into the kiss, into his touch. And at that moment nothing else matters. You are wrapped in his tenderness, the ocean of feelings flooding your body, and he enters your heart like he owns it. He always did.

Aemond is the one to break the kiss, sensing that you are gasping for air. You slowly open your eyes in a daze, as if you’ve been awoken from a dream.

“I will take care of everything,” he affirms, his mouth still only a couple of inches away. “You do not have to worry about a thing.”

One of your hands moved on top of his chest, and you feel that his heart rate is back to normal. The pounding of it pulls you back to reality.

“You mean that?” you whisper. “Aemond, I don’t have that much to offer.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face and leaves a trail of light kisses up to your temple.

“You have everything a man can wish for,” he reassures you, and his gaze finds yours again. “Everything I have ever wished for.”

The prince takes your face between his hands, and his thumbs follow the contours of your cheeks.

“Even in a room full of art I can only look at you,” Aemond murmurs, his words are flamelike and go straight to your heart, making it flutter.

Only now you notice that the sun emerged from the clouds, and the golden light illuminates everything around you. You bask in it as well as in Aemond’s affection — and he makes you feel seen, safe, cared for. Loved.

“That was very poetic of you,” you tilt your head and lean closer to him.

“I agree with poets on one thing — we have no control over who we love. But I have never regretted loving you,” he can’t stop himself from placing a kiss on the edge of your mouth. “And if I had to choose, it would still be you.”

When you meet his gaze, this time you read it with ease — and you are sure it’s a mere reflection of your own. An overwhelming feeling sweeps over and spreads through you. But the ocean is calm, and you are not cold anymore — and Aemond does love you, after all.

You feel your mouth quirk in a smile, genuine and a very happy one. Aemond presses his forehead to yours and promises:

“From now on, you will always be my first choice,” and then you see him trailing for your lips.

And you believe him.

the taglist: @greenowlfactif, @mischiefmanaged71, @pasta-rask, @imjustboredso, @iiamthehybrid, @m00n5t0n3, @crispmarshmallow, @bellaisasleep, @aemondssuit, @ipadkidsworld, @itisjustwhatitis, @maximizedrhythms, @fckwritersblock, @hiatuswhore, @fantasyreader130, @bibli0thecary, @teapartydreams, @kyuupidwrites, @thelittleswanao3 (I couldn't tag some of you for whatever reason, so I'll just message you guys)

yep, it’s me again!

the title is someone’s quote (I have no idea where it’s from, pls help a girl out)

“Disappear here” are Jonathan Carroll’s words that have been engraved in my memory for years and they just popped into my head while I was writing in a haste and only then I realized wait, technically it’s a quote, you can’t do that?! but guess what, I did! I also tried to rephrase these two words but it looked weird so I’m letting you know that I suck as a writer

the bit when she babbles and he looks smitten with her — I couldn’t help but think of that scene from “North and South” (it screams Aemond to me!)

I imagined the cliff to look like this 🍃

I originally planned to turn the romance down just a notch ’cause I already have 4 sappy fics and I wanted this one to be more “realistic” but… oh well, me and romance go hand in hand, apparently.

you will see this version of Aegon more often because I enjoyed it immensely!

what do you guys think? comments and opinions are VERY welcome! 🥺 ✨ my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[defectivevillain]

until it doesn't hurt

pairing: Bruce Banner/Reader

reader’s pronouns: they/them

the reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no physical descriptors are used.

summary: “I could’ve caused you irreversible harm,” Bruce says. It’s almost a practiced recitation at this point, and you have to wonder if he truly believes that—or if he’s just been conditioned by everyone around him to believe he is only capable of inflicting pain. “You didn’t,” you maintain, for what feels like the thousandth time. Bruce is so caught up in the hypotheticals that he refuses to see the success right in front of him: the fact that he didn’t so much as lay a finger on you.

word count: 2.9k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence

Being an Avenger means you have to be ready for anything at all times. That spontaneity is difficult to adjust to at first, but as time passes, you grow used to it. You grow used to sleeping lightly; to stashing weapons just about anywhere you can keep them; to having few restful days and many restless ones. The moment your powers manifested, you knew you would be a hero: not because you wanted to be one, but because it would be your responsibility to protect those who needed protecting. 

You weren’t always an Avenger. At first, you were just a rogue—kind of a vigilante. But then the attack on New York happened—Loki happened—and everything flew out the window. Suddenly, you were out on the street in broad daylight, trying your best to keep the civilians safe. That was how you crashed into Iron Man of all people. You exchanged banter and insults, but when it came down to it, you protected him, and he protected you. And Tony is extremely persistent—it didn’t take long for him to sink his claws into you and drag you back to the Avengers Tower. 

From there, you gradually get to know the other Avengers. Steve and Clint are relatively friendly right off the bat. Natasha is a bit more difficult—you have to earn her trust before she starts to open up to you. But eventually, somehow, you manage to bond with all of the other occupants of the Tower. At least, all of them except Bruce Banner. 

Bruce is an interesting case. He almost immediately dismissed you when Tony first introduced you, instead deigning to focus on his experiments. You hadn’t taken offense to Bruce’s reclusive behavior, nor had you taken the hint that he didn’t want to get to know you. Instead, you had all but forced him to acknowledge you. This manifested in a multitude of ways: from going out of your way to talk to him to offering to help with his research. Bruce is extremely protective of his laboratory, but somehow he deemed you capable enough to serve as his laboratory assistant. You were more than content to hand him capsules and adjust minor things, while he did the brunt of the work. You took the gifted opportunities to attempt to get to know him better. At first, it was like speaking to a brick wall. But somewhere along the way, his cold and uncaring façade began to crack. You slowly worked your way up to meaningless small talk—and, later, casual conversation.

Truthfully, you really enjoy spending time with Bruce. But he’s rather unpredictable—sometimes he’ll push you away, and other times he’ll play along. You know that he has a lot of baggage—what with his childhood and his alter-ego. You’ve been trying to convince him that you care about him—that you’re not going to abandon him or villainize him—but he doesn’t ever seem to believe you. He always conducts himself with some semblance of suspicion and doubt; it almost seems like he’s waiting for you to wake up to reality and run away screaming.

Still, progress is progress—no matter how slow. You’re happy with how you’ve slowly bonded with him, and you can only hope that there’s more on the horizon for the both of you. 

…You never consider the possibility that something could happen to make things worse—to destroy your progress and send you right back to the start. 

“We need you for something.”

You’re brutally torn from your reverie, forced to slowly come back to yourself. You’re sitting in the living room, staring ahead at the blank wall. How long have you been sitting here? All you know is that it’s no longer light outside, and that Natasha is standing in front of you with a firm expression. 

“I- what?” You stammer, still processing what’s happening. “Nat-”

“It’s important,” she says. You get to your feet before she can continue speaking. “Trust me.” You do trust her. Natasha isn’t one for over-exaggeration or dramatics; when she says something is important, she means it. And the grave expression on her face is only worrying you more. You follow after her as she walks down the hall and towards the elevators. The two of you step into the space and she presses a button, before the elevator slowly rises. 

In hindsight, perhaps you should’ve been a bit more suspicious. Why would she be taking you to another floor in the Tower? Typically, when there’s a new development or an imminent threat, you’ll be directed to another location—either to combat the threat or to strategize. Furthermore, there’s a strained silence in the air between Natasha and you. Nat’s shoulders are drawn tight and she’s staring ahead pointedly, as if avoiding your eyes. 

The elevator dings and you breathe an internal sigh of relief, hoping to get rid of this needless tension. But before you can begin to take a step, you’re being roughly shoved out of the elevator and into the hallway. It takes you several moments to get your bearings—at which point you recognize the telltale sounds of the doors behind you closing, and the elevator dropping back down to where you came. You stare at the closed doors in disbelief, before turning to look back down the hall. One of the recreational rooms is straight ahead, and you hear yelling. 

Once you’re standing in the doorway, you’re able to place the inexplicable noises you were hearing. Bruce is in his Hulk form, green and raging as he throws anything within his grasp at the walls around him. You’re willing to bet Natasha brought you here to do something about this. Why she thinks you’re the best person to calm Bruce down, you’re not sure. 

“Bruce,” you say slowly. Bruce promptly freezes, an exercise machine lifted over his head. He stares down at you; you stare up at him. He’s momentarily distracted by you. “It’s okay.” He’s silent. You hold your hands out at your sides in mock surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you,” you continue. “You’re safe.”

Silence. You take a slow breath. The machine he’s holding over his head drops a fraction of an inch. 

“It’s okay, Bruce.” You repeat, pushing as much conviction into your voice as you can. Your effort seems to work, as his eyebrows furrow. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence as the two of you stare at each other. Then, his visage shifts and you’re suddenly looking at Bruce Banner—disheveled and exhausted.

“Are you alright-?” You’re compelled to ask. The scientist is back in human form, wearing nothing but a tattered pair of pants; bruises and scratches litter his skin; and there’s a distant expression on his face. He seems to snap out of his trance when he hears your voice.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce then spits. You immediately flinch at the unexpected anger. “Seriously, what the fuck are you doing here?” His gaze is flitting about the room quickly, before settling on you with fevered intensity. You’ve never seen Bruce look so irate before. He’s a remarkably composed man (although you suspect he bottles up anger and rage and lets it out in bursts as the Hulk). Indeed, this kind of fury is typical for the Hulk, but exceedingly rare for Bruce. 

“I didn’t-” You choke out helplessly, glancing back at the hall and, by extension, the elevator. “They-” It’s inexplicably difficult for you to get the words out. 

“That was our doing.” A voice confesses from behind you. You turn around to find Nat and Tony standing behind you. The two of them approach and come to a stop at your side. 

Bruce’s gaze locks on them with fiery focus. He brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His glasses are nowhere to be seen—he must’ve dropped them somewhere as he transformed. “I expected better from both of you.”

“Bruce-” Tony tries to say, an apologetic expression on his face. 

“What on earth made you think that throwing them out as bait was a good idea?” Bruce interjects furiously, motioning towards you. “You could’ve gotten them seriously injured!” He exclaims. Tony has the good grace to look embarrassed; Nat is staring ahead with a flat expression and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Bruce, I’m fine-” You try to say, quickly growing uncomfortable with the tension settling in the air. 

“I could’ve harmed you,” Bruce is quick to assert. “Easily.” His voice is cold. 

“But you didn’t,” you maintain. He’s not giving himself enough credit. More troubling is the idea that he has faith in his own cruelty—that he only sees himself as capable of harming someone. You don’t know what else to say, don’t know what could possibly be said to repair the evident years of damage done to this man’s psyche. The entire world has treated him as a weapon at best and an uncontrollable, irredeemable monster at worst.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bruce says with unshakeable certainty. He retreats from the room, leaving you to stare after him in confusion and shock. You turn to face Natasha and Tony, who are both staring at the doorway with complex looks. 

You want to tell them off, but the words that leave your lips are far different than you intend them to be. “Should I go after him?” You ask instead. Bruce is the primary concern right now—you can chew Tony and Nat out later. You’ve known him for a bit now, and have grown to interpret his expressions fairly easily. You’ve seen Bruce express a lot of emotions… but the look on his face just now is completely foreign to you. 

“Probably,” Tony admits. 

“I don’t think we should,” Natasha says, motioning towards Tony and herself. “He’s mad at us. And… rightfully so.” She exchanges a glance with Tony, whose lips are pressed in a thin line. It’s clear they didn’t give enough thought to their whole plan. 

“You’ll be fine, though,” Tony says with unfounded conviction. Nat places a hand on your shoulder and grips it reassuringly. You take a deep breath and come to a decision, walking down the hall and towards the elevator doors. 

Moments later, you’re walking out of the lift and down the dim hallway leading to Bruce’s bedroom. He’s entirely alone on this floor of the tower. You pause in front of his door for a few seconds, wondering if you should walk away. But you can’t. Instead, you knock on the door four times. “Bruce?” You ask. Despite the clear sturdiness of the door, he’s able to hear you. 

“Go away.” Bruce responds. His voice is a little muffled, and you have to strain to hear him. 

You’re hurt for the briefest of moments. Then you shelve the feeling and resolve yourself to tackling it later. “I’m coming in,” you announce, placing your hand against the scanner at the edge of the doorway. The scanner flashes green and the door slides open, revealing Bruce’s bedroom. You’ve never been here before. It’s modestly decorated, with mostly monotone shades. Nothing particularly strikes you, save for the giant desk in the corner of the room. Papers litter the entire surface of the desk, and a few are covered by Bruce’s arms. 

The man doesn’t look up as you approach. “I don’t want to see you,” Bruce says. His back is turned and you’re unable to see his expression. 

“I don’t care,” you respond, taking a few steps into the space until you’re a short (yet seemingly insurmountable) distance from Bruce. He’s sitting at his desk, rubbing his hands over his eyes roughly. It doesn’t take long for you to remember your guilt. “Bruce, I don’t want you to torture yourself over this.” Maybe you shouldn’t have interfered in the first place. 

“I could’ve caused you irreversible harm,” Bruce says. It’s almost a practiced recitation at this point, and you have to wonder if he truly believes that—or if he’s just been conditioned by everyone around him to believe he is only capable of inflicting pain. 

“You didn’t,” you maintain, for what feels like the thousandth time. Bruce is so caught up in the hypotheticals that he refuses to see the success right in front of him: the fact that he didn’t so much as lay a finger on you. 

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Bruce says with a shake of his head. He pushes himself out of his chair and gets to his feet, turning around to face you. Your eyes widen as you notice the torn expression on his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the determination written in every line of his form. “My eyes locked onto you and, for a split second, I envisioned harming you. Deliberately.” The confession clings to the air like a vice. 

“But you didn’t act on that impulse,” you assert. “You suppressed it.” 

“So?” Bruce argues. “I still had the urge. You should be disgusted, afraid-” 

“I’m not afraid of you, Bruce,” you interrupt. The statement lingers heavily in the air between the two of you. For a long moment, there’s nothing but the faint hum you’ve grown to associate with the Tower itself.  

“You should be,” Bruce then mutters. And suddenly he’s standing in front of you, staring at you with a dark gaze. His fists are clenched at his sides and you see his skin flicker with shades of green, before it returns to normal. The man maneuvers you to the side and shoves you, until you’re hitting the wall behind you. Bruce’s hands move up to your shirt collar and he clenches at it, his fingers almost spasming as he tightens his grip. You just stare at him. “I could ruin you.” He murmurs, so quietly that you have to strain to hear it. 

You want to argue with him so badly, but that strategy hasn’t been working so far. For some reason, Bruce has convinced himself that he not only has the capacity to hurt you, but that he wants to. You know that can’t be true, but how can you convince him? If he thinks he can ruin you… “Then do it,” you challenge him. He meets your eyes once more and you stare back unflinchingly, trying to convey how much you trust him. 

If you thought the tension was suffocating before, it’s practically ripping the breath from your lungs now. Everything around you seems to fade into obscurity. All you can see is Bruce; all you can feel is Bruce. His fingers twitch and his grip falls from your collar. For an awful moment, you think he’s going to walk away—turn his back on you as he has done so many times before. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans closer. If he’s trying to get you to back down, then it isn’t working. 

At first, you want to think that Bruce is testing you. But the way he’s regarding you right now—with glittering desire in his eyes—makes you think otherwise. His hands move from the wall to your shoulders, back to the nape of your neck, until he gently tugs you forward. It’s hardly a strong pull, and you understand the choice he’s giving you. 

But, you think fondly, there was never much of a choice. From the moment you locked eyes with him, you knew he would dominate your thoughts. And indeed, he has. You think about the hard-won look of approval in his eyes when you make an astute observation; the way he almost frantically looks across the battlefield, his posture instantly relaxing once he sees you; the contradictions written all over his skin; the rare smiles you feel privileged to see. 

You lean forward and press your lips to his. Bruce is quick to reciprocate, his hands lingering at the nape of your neck before slipping down to your waist. You lock your arms around his shoulders, practically trapping him in your embrace. But from the strength of his grip, you can ascertain that the gesture is more than welcome. 

Later, when you break apart, Bruce has a disbelieving expression on his face. He looks slightly dazed, as if suspicious of the reality he now finds himself in. You grasp his wrist gently. 

“You can’t get rid of me, Bruce,” You murmur insistently, “...no matter how hard you try.”

He stares at you for another long moment. “And I have tried,” Bruce admits through a dry huff. You want to be offended by the comment, but you know it’s true. Bruce is stupidly self-sacrificing—he purposefully keeps his distance from people to protect them. But the reality of the situation is that people will come to harm regardless of his presence. “But you’re too stubborn.” That statement is spoken with a significant amount of fondness, and his hand comes up to cradle your cheek. You bring your hand up to rest on top of his. 

“I’ll always be here, even when you don’t want me to be.” You promise. And maybe that promise isn’t yours to make, because one can never truly predict what will come next. But somehow, deep down, you know it to be true. 

Bruce brings you close once more, an uncharacteristic note of boldness in the fluid movement. When you step back moments later, you find that he has a hint of a smile on his face. “I know,” Bruce says, the traces of apprehension on his face breaking and cracking to reveal a rare sight: unrestrained affection.

thanks for reading! <3

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general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[poppy-metal]

haunted by beyonce is so creep au. i was about it because i love my little freaks and listening to that song. would making a spotify playlist for it be too far lol? little sneak peek...

he spends the rest of his time at college a near recluse. re-reading your old letters. he crumbles them in his hand and feels a need to punch or stab at something but every time he finds himself smoothing them out gently. he tries to channel his anger into other ways. tries not to let this fester in him and make him even worse but it's too late for him to decide. how is he meant to move on when he can't hear a bird chirp without all his thoughts turning to you? 

-☕

AURRRRRRRR

he graduates stanford. its all hazy. he went kind of comatose after your last letter. he sat in his room for days just..... staring at the ceiling. numb. he gets precariously close to failing all of his classes and only slightly comes out of it when he's confronted by patrick and his grandmother calls him worrying about him. he manages to pull himself enough together to push through his last semester. worst of all - he stops playing tennis for awhile. anything that used to make him happy just pisses him off. he moves states with patrick when he offers because the thought of being alone is too daunting. he doesn't trust himself.

patrick and art buy an apartment together - patrick goes pro - art...... stays home. the reality of your absence hits him months later and he comes out of his numb state of shock and its bad. he's self destructive and meaner and he cries more often than he ever used to. he burns half your letters - almost burns the apartment down doing it - but stops halfway through and saves the last remaining ones. he rereads them religiously. he wonders how all of it could be fake. he wonders why he didn't just throw them away when they first started coming. why did he have to engage? he thinks the worst of himself - what kind of pathetic deranged freak he must be to have found these words appealing? to be touched? to fall for someone he doesn't even know? patrick worries about him. they fight alot. patrick isn't used to this kind of art. this miserable, sad, snappish art. he tries to get him back into tennis - but everytime art holds a racket he feels sick. he remembers how much you wrote about it - his tennis. how beautiful you thought he was when he played. how you'd always been watching him. he thinks about you seeing him on TV and not even recognizing him because of how little he meant to you.

he tells patrick he's taking a hiatus from tennis thats all. the media goes crazy about it. but he deactivates all of his accounts.

its been a few years now and people are getting antsy. they want art donaldson back. patrick is niggling him again. he says art looks alot better than he did before. that it'd be good for him. art doesn't know what he wants. being famous again doesn't feel as thrilling as it used to. he wants to be normal again, though. he's gotten good at pretending, at least. he has a job at his local bookstore and he can smile at people and he's having sex and he goes out with patrick sometimes. there's no reason he shouldn't be back out there.

but he's not okay. he's a viper wrapped in the body of a man. he's filled with poison and he wants to inject it into the world around him every day. he still writes to you - he texts your old number - senseless things. the rambles of a mad man. he wants you to turn on the TV and see him step out onto a court as art donaldson again and he wants you to feel him through the screen. he wants you to be watching when he wins and he wants you watching when an interviewer asks him what its like to be back so he can look at the camera and pretend its your eyes he's meeting through the screen when he says, "I've never felt more motivated."

"and what's motivating you, mr. donaldson?"

a smile. "reconnecting with an old friend."

the good thing about being back into tennis, art has found - is the money. money he can use to find you. money he already plans on using to find you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 42

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Almost lost this chapter bc my computer went nuts.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hit delete chat in the conversation settings. You leave it just as blank as before and close out the app. Just like Dr. Kemp said to. He can’t be there right away but he has a better plan. You’re not good at those anyway.

All you have to do now is wait out Andy. He’ll be going to work come morning and you’ll be alone. Then you can take your things, the things that are really yours, and leave. Finally. You realise that’s exactly what you’ve been longing for. A way out.

The hard part is still ahead of you. Freedom is still just out of reach. You have to pretend that everything’s fine but you’re realising, you’ve been doing that for a while.

You shake off your nerves and roll the tears back behind your eyes. You can cry later. Even as your cheeks strain and your nose tingles, you resist. Not yet, not yet.

You finish tidying up the tablet, trying to leave it as you found it. With not much else than your drawings. You close the cover and bring it with you as you turn off the lights and head upstairs. You sop up the mess in the bathroom and leave it dark. 

You hesitate to approach the bedroom. You hear Andy’s snores, low and steady. Your skin crawls. You enter and put the tablet on the small side table where you charge it. You hang the damp robe and face the bed.

For the first time in your life, you want to hurt someone. You’re not afraid of being the one hurt. You really want to hit him and kick him and just let out your fury on him. You can’t and you won’t. You’re not who he told you you are. And you’re not strong enough for that. You’re still too small, too weak.

So you near the bed and climb under the covers. You move slowly as you pull the duvet to your chin. He snorts, making you wince, and sidles up behind you as he wraps his arm around you. You go rigid but fight through the ice that threatens to encase you. He can’t know, he can’t know.

“Mmm, where were you?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Had a bath,” you squeak, putting your hand over his. You want to rip him away but instead, you squeeze, holding him tighter. “Sorry.”

“Nmph,” he grumbles and nuzzles your crown, just as quickly drifting back into his rhythmic snores.

You exhale little by little. You close your eyes but just as quickly open again. You know you won’t sleep. You can’t. Not with him as good as on top of you. Not knowing what awaits you in the morning. But mostly, not with that needling guilt in the nape of your neck.

Amber.

You betrayed your own sister. You treated her like a villain. You demonised her. You ostracised her. You left her!

You don’t know if she can ever forgive you. You can’t blame her for that. Worse, you don’t think you’d let her forgive you. You don’t deserve it.

You feel brittle as you bite down on your cheeks. No crying, not yet, you remind yourself. For once, you have to do things right. You have to follow through. It’s up to you now.

🕊️

“I didn’t know you could make crepes,” Andy smiles as he cuts into the roll, compote fruit and syrup oozing out.

You do your best to mirror him, making a show of nibbling away at your own food.

“I found a recipe,” you tap your tablet, not far from you.

“That’s great. You’re… doing better.”

“I’m trying,” you assure him, “I hope it doesn’t make you late for work.”

“Hm? Oh, no, breakfast with you is worth it,” he pops a bit into his mouth and hums. You regret not spitting in it, repulsed by the thought when it came to you, but now, not so much.

He can sit there and lie to you. It makes it easier for you to do the same. He’s been lying this entire time. Making you feel like you’re a problem. A burden. No, you were a thing to be used. To be exploited. He never liked you, the girl he calls dove, he only liked what he could get out of you. And he got off on it.

He took Amber from you. He did that. Yes, you’re stupid for falling for it but he knew what he was doing. He lied to you. And you know exactly how he did it. 

He took all that therapy and twisted it around on you. You wonder why he even bothers with Dr. Kemp when he’s not trying to change. More than the narcissist he branded your sister, he’s a psychopath. You found that on the internet too.

Bitter, angry, hateful. You’ve never felt this way before. You’ve never truly loathed anyone. Not even your grandfather. His fists were nothing compared to Andy’s emotional battering.

“Well, don’t let it get too cold. They get gummy,” you force a smile, only fed by the thought of what comes after. Of what you’re going to do when he leaves.

Run.

🕊️

When Andy leaves, you’re in the kitchen tidying up. You left all the dishes in a stack to make a convincing show for him. You’ll be busy all day scouring the skillet and the fruit stuck to the inside of the pot, along with your plates and the cutlery. Oh and the mess you made of the counters.

The door closes but you don’t break your charade right away. You give it ten minutes. Fifteen, just to be sure. Then you tiptoe down the hall and look out the window. The tire tracks are already snowed over. 

You don’t hesitate. You’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. This is your chance. You spin and race upstairs. 

You search the closet and the dresser, everywhere for the bag you brought there. It’s gone. Along with all the clothes from your old life. All that was you. Andy took them along with everything else.

Whatever. You grab a few pieces of the more practical slant; turtlenecks, some leggings, a pair of jeans. Socks and underwear. You work quickly, with intent. Just enough to get out, not a lot. Not too much. As little as you can. You don’t want to keep too much that will remind you of this place.

You rush back downstairs after you change. You grab your tablet and message Dr. Kemp, the chat log still blank. You delete each message once he responds. You can’t be too careful.

‘He’s gone. When can you get here?’

His reply isn’t long; ‘ten minutes, been waiting a block away.’

‘I’ll be outside.’

You close the cover of the tablet and stare at it. You hover it over the countertop but stop yourself. No, you earned this. It’s yours. Andy never did pay you for the painting. Not in full.

You hug the tablet and go to retrieve the bag you found in the front closet. A tote bag with faded floral print. You don’t wonder where it came from. You don’t want to think too hard about him or this place. They’ll soon be long gone.

You pull on your boots and your coat. That’s all he’s left you of your former existence. You don’t suspect you would have them for much longer if you stay. You shudder and grip the fabric handles of the bag.

You open the front door and step out into the drift. The snow floats down in fluffy flakes. As you step off the porch, it collects on your lashes. You make slow progress, lifting your knees high as the unshoveled walk makes each step a task. As you come up to the curb, a distant rumble comes from down the avenue.

You shield your eyes against the steady snowfall and squint. You think it’s Dr. Kemp. You’re not sure. When you saw his car, it was dark and you were more focused on other things.

He rolls down the snow-carpeted road cautiously and pulls in the next driveway before turning around and coming up along the curb. He grins at you through the passenger window and the doors unlock with a loud thunk. You grab the handle and pull.

“Hey, sweetheart, I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Thanks, doctor, I… thank you. I…”

“You sounded scared, how could I say no?”

You nod and look over your shoulder at the house.

“Let me deal with Andy when the time comes,” he insists, “come on, it’s hell out here. Get in.”

You nod and haul your bag onto the floor ahead of you and put the tablet on top. You stop yourself before you release the device. You look at Dr. Kemp. He stares.

“You alright?” He asks.

“I forgot something,” you say as you let go of the tablet. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll be two minutes,” you hold up as many fingers, “promise.”

“I trust you, sweetheart,” he assures with a smile, “I’ll be here.”

You take and breath and close the passenger door gently. You whip around and stumble back up the walk, stepping into the holes you left on your way out. You burst inside, not carrying for the melting snow you leave in your stead or the undone dishes, or anything about this place. There’s only one last thing that needs to be done.

You take the stairs two at a time as you complete your final chore. You barrel back down and don’t bother with a final goodbye as you head back out. For once, you feel accomplished. Like you’ve done something and you don’t give a heck what Andy feels.

You don’t look back, you just keep going. You falter but not from doubt, only the snow. You get back to the car and rip the door open, climbing in with a heave. You fall into the seat as you snap the door shut. You lean your head back and sigh.

“I’m ready to go now,” you say.

“Great,” he shifts into gear, “put your seat belt on, sweetheart, the roads are awful.”

You do as he says as you catch your breath. Your skin is buzzing from more than just the cold. You fold your hands as you try to settle your nerves. 

“Good girl,” Dr. Kemp praises, “we’ll be home soon.”

🕊️

It’s real once you walk through the front door. You look around at the home decor and nearly fall apart. The stringent, almost sterile walls of Andy’s house haunt you. It’s only then, with something to compare them to, that you realise how much you dreaded them. How much you despised them.

You look around and take in every inch. The brown leather bench beside the door, a tall coat rack on the other side of the entryway, a mat for your snow laden boots, and a runner rug with the honey coloured curlicues on a deeper shade of brown. There’s a faint smell of cedar in the air.

“Ann made up the guest room for you,” he says, “and the kids are at school so they shouldn’t be a bother.”

You stop short, your hands on the collar of your coat. You look at him, dull with shock. Your cheeks tremble as you gulp.

“Ann… your…”

“My wife, yeah,” he says coolly, “she’s excited to meet you.”

“She is?” You blink, “I uh…” your eyes flit all around, “I’m so sorry, this isn’t–”

“It’s fine,” he intones, “really. She understands how vulnerable some of them a safe space.”

It’s like a slap in the face. You don’t know what you expected or why you expected it. He’s your doctor, you’re his patient, a crazy person. How did you forget that?

You glance down at his hand, his left hand. There’s a gold ring on his finger. It wasn’t there before. Not in your sessions, not at Thanksgiving. Never. Why wasn’t he with his family during the holidays?

“I thought I heard the door,” a woman appears from the other end of the hall, “oh, this must be her.”

You bat your lashes, fighting to hold yourself together. Don’t cry yet. 

“Uh, hi,” you squeak as she struts down the hall.

“Hello, hon,” the tall blonde pulls you into a hug as you cower.

“Ann,” Kemp clears his throat.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I forget–” she lets you go, “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

You only shake your head. Your eyes are dry and itchy. You can only look back at her before slowly glancing at Steve. Your cheeks twinge and your lips pinch. He never told you about her. Why would he?

You feel like your chest is empty. There’s an icy whirlwind inside of you, flowing through you, sending a shiver up your spine. This is the worst thing you've ever felt. What is it?

“Ann,” Kemp says, “she's had a long night.”

“Oh, of course, you take her up to the guest room,” she backs off, “you take your time, hon, do whatever you need to do.”

You nod and mouth a thank you, unable to get any noise out. She goes back the way she came and you turn, focusing on undoing your coat. What have you done?

“I guess I should've warned you, huh? What with your… issues,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Just let me know if it gets too crowded around here.”

“Okay,” you croak.

You bend to wiggle free of your boots. You don't know what to do. You just want to be alone.

He leads you through the house. Into a cozy front room and to a staircase curled up to the second floor. You follow behind him, the tote bag dangling from your grasp.

He opens a door as he faces you. You try to hide your emotions but you can barely keep from frowning. He rests his hand on the door frame.

“This is you. I'm down at the very end,” he points over his shoulder, “if you need anything…”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry? For…”

“Coming here.”

“Sweetheart, I wouldn't say yes if it was a problem,” he coos as he reaches to caress your shoulder, “I wouldn't be a very good doctor if I don't make sure my patients are safe, huh?”

“I guess not,” you murmur.

“Look, you just get yourself situated. Try to relax. I know a lot's happened but you're strong. You can do this,” he leans in, “I believe in you.”

He kisses your forehead and you wince. His hand goes to your chin as he pulls away. You stare up at him.

“I meant it when I said you're special,” he hums.

“I…” you turn your head away from him, slipping free, “I need to lay down.”

“Sure,” he smirks and drops his hand, “I'll check in when I can.”

You turn into the bedroom, slouching through as you sense him behind you. You feel him watching, as if waiting for something. You refuse to look back.

“Just relax, sweetheart,” he purrs, “you're exactly where you need to be.”

The door shuts and you gasp as the bag falls from your hand. What does he mean?

[drabblesbyjubs]

Caress

Astarion x gn! Reader; your boundaries on where Astarion can touch you and where you can touch him have always been a little fuzzy, but he struggles to word what he means when attempting to simply tell you where he doesn’t want to be touched. He tosses out an idea, and the two of you explore your comfort zones. This could be seen at a pt 2 to Just Need Time, its very soft and fluffy, sort of building on that healing aspect.

Fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual nudity, some minor sexual content but no actual smut, trauma, Astarion’s backstory stuff, minor spoilers for Astarion’s story in act 3, minors go bye bye pls

I wrote this on my first day at my new job. This fic was born in the kitchens of a nursing home

Intimacy was always daunting to Astarion.

Emotional intimacy was close, it was vulnerable, it was a means to exploit. And it was terrifying. Physical intimacy was a task, something Astarion struggled to enjoy.

More than a few times he had feared you leaving him because he couldn’t provide the intimacy you deserved. He wasn’t always emotionally available, sometimes we was so apathetic he feared you would be disgusted with him, but there were some things he just couldn’t care about. Even if he wanted to, caring was vulnerable, and it wasn’t allowed. Survival of the fittest.

He was next to never physically available for intimacy; either he completely zoned out before you even got his pants off, the thought of a hug lingering too long sent shivers down his spine, or a hand on his hip pulled a fear response from him, making his whip around to face you, ready to push you away.

You were so understanding that it hurt.

Never once did you judge, never once were you angry or upset. That was almost worse than you being angry; just not knowing what you were thinking. The uncertainty was horrible.

Uncertainty over how you thought of him, uncertainty of where he even liked you touching. Sometimes your soft, romantic touches made his heart soar; they were safe, there was no fear, no ulterior motive, only you, at face value. He loved those times. He wished he knew them more. There were so many little places he was and wasn’t okay with you touching him, he couldn’t even keep track of them.

Maybe it was worth finding out.

..

“Darling?” Astarion approached your tent, and you looked up from the book you had been reading, smiling when you saw that handsome face you’d come to love.

“Astarion,” you greeted, setting down your book and standing to meet him. He hugged you, and you held him close. It seemed he was feeling a little touchy today, and you didn’t mind one bit.

“I wanted to talk. Is… now a good time?” Astarion questioned. You felt a pit of nervousness in your stomach; he looked serious.

“Of course, come with me.” You said, leading him in to your tent and shutting it behind you. “What’s wrong?” You asked.

Astarion grabbed your hands tenderly, and you felt nerves twist in your belly.

“I know I haven’t been the best to you.” He began, immediately filling you with doubt and confusion.

“Darling, of course you-“

“Please.. let me get this out.” He gently kissed the back of your hand, and you shuffled nervously.

“I haven’t been the best to you. I’ve been reclusive, and I know you deserve better. The.. the thought of losing you is terrifying. I want to be more open, give you what you deserve, I just… dont know how. I… have a favor to ask of you.”

You gulped nervously. This didn’t seem like he was trying to break up with you… but the way he spoke in such a self deprecating manner, it was so concerning to you.

“What is it, hun?” You asked.

“I.. want you to help me learn where I can and cant touch you. Where you can and cant touch me. I suppose I… just want to admire you. You tell me when and where it’s too much, and you do the same to me. Is… is that okay?” He looked up at you with those beautiful red eyes.

“Like… like what do you mean?” You asked. “Whatever it is, im alright with it, but.. you may have to take the lead, show me what you’d like. Is that alright?”

“I… want to touch you. And want you to touch me.” He hesitantly explained, a shadow of doubt cast over him now. “I dont want it to be… sexual. I… suppose I want to find where im alright with you touching me. And where youre alright with me touching you.”

“Oh,” you said, realization dawning on you. “Oh hun, of course we can do that. That sounds like a great idea.” You kissed the tip of his nose and you smiled seeing the way the tips of his pointed ears flushed.

He smiled, that slight uptick to the corner of his lip, and the way his smile lines showed and his ryes warmed just looking at you. He was so, so beautiful.

You gently cupped his cheeks in your hands, thumbing over the corner of his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” you muttered, and Astarion rolled his eyes, though his smile didn’t fade for a moment.

“I know. And wonderful, don’t forget.”

You laughed. “And wonderful.” You pulled him in for a kiss, soft and tender. Astarion melted in your touch, his hands lifting to let one wrap around your chest under your arms and the other card through the hair at the back of your head and gently hold you close to him. His lips moved over yours and both of your relaxed in to the kiss.

You pulled away after a moment, saying, “How do you want to do this?”

“Maybe… here, come with me.” He took your hand and lead you to the bedroll in your tent, the two of you sitting on it facing one another. He gave an awkward pause, clearing his throat and saying, “Could… I take the lead, then you take over?”

“Of course,” you say. “Do you want me to take anything off, or keep this all over our clothes?”

“Maybe.. leave our undergarments on, but take off everything else?”

“That sounds alright,” you said. “I have a blanket right there if you need to cover up.” You motioned to the blanket next to the two of you. Astarion nodded in confirmation, and as you began reaching for the hem of your shirt, he asked you, “May I?” He reached your your shirt, pausing before reaching your hands and waiting before moving on.

You smiled, the care and focus in his expression warming your heart. “Of course,” you said. His fingers hooked under the hem of your bed shirt, pulling it up and over your head. The focus in his gaze was wonderful, so careful as if he would shatter you with one wrong move.

He let out a little sigh when he had your shirt off and tossed to the side, as of he had been holding his breath.

“Beautiful as ever,” he whispered, so soft you hardly heard it. You nudged his shoulder with a little laugh. “Gods, Astarion,” you laughed, and he joined you. His hands cupped your cheeks, and he gazed lovingly into your eyes. You had never seen him so… soft. So vulnerable. It was almost like you were looking at an entirely different man to the one you had found in the woods after the illithid ship crashed, the one who had held a knife to your throat and threatened your life. And maybe he really was a different man, after all you had went through.

But he would always be Astarion, forever your little star.

Calloused hands softly traveled down your neck, closely watching you for any reaction. Down your neck, over your shoulders, across your chest. Over your hips and up your stomach, then to your back, scooting close to feel down the line of your spine, to your shoulders, and down your arms, until his fingers tangled in yours.

“Was that alright?” He asked. You nodded, giving him an assuring smile.

“Of course,” you said. You leaned up to kiss him, a gentle peck to his lips before pulling away. Your fingers danced feather light at the hem of his bedshirt.

“May I?” You asked, to which he nodded.

You pulled his shirt up over his head, watching his gaze fall to the ground. It had always made him a little nervous to feel so bare in such an intimate way, but you didn’t let your gaze linger on his body, instead starting how he did, cupping his cheeks.

You moved to trace over the points of his ears, and he laughed softly, relaxing in to your touch as your fingers carded through his hair.

You hands moved to his jawline, before slowly moving to his neck. You watched his smile fade and a more focused expression return. You tilted your head, and he looked to you.

“I’m not sure.” He said, almost as if having read your mind. You nodded; he’d always been iffy about any touch on the side of his neck that Cazador bit him on. You moved on without another word, to his shoulders and his chest. Neither of which he had any complaint over, you noted.

Your fingers ghosted over the muscles of his abdomen, and you noted how Astarion watched your hand with an intent gaze. You thumbed over the top of his pants before gently resting your hands on the small of his back. You looked at him, waiting for him to return your gaze before you asked, “Your back. Is that a no overall?”

He pursed his lips and looked away.

“That… may be situational. I dont mind sometimes, but others…”

You nodded and said, “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll ask you before I ever touch you there, alright?” He nodded, visibly relaxing.

You moved to hook your fingers under the waistband of his pants, once again looking at him for approval before continuing. He nodded, hut you said to him, “Use your words, hun.”

“You can,” he said. He knew you always preferred he be vocal about his consent, instead of implying it. It made it easier for you to judge when he really wanted it.

Sometimes it was hard for him to know when he really wanted it.

Nodding, you gently pulled his pants down, him lifting his hips to help you out. You hummed, seeing him in nothing but his underwear. He truly was beautiful.

Starting with his hips, you pressed your thumbs against his hip bones, before moving to his outer thighs. You felt him grimace a bit, looking up to him.

“It’s alright,” he quickly assured. “Maybe move a little slower, if thats okay?”

“Of course, I’m sorry.” You responded.

Making a note to move more carefully, you moved down to his knees, then his calves. You ran your hands up the insides of his legs, stopping at his inner thighs. He shuffled a little, saying, “I think this is fine.. just let me know before you touch me here, please?”

“Aye aye, captain,” you said with a light hearted smile, moving in to kiss him.

It was slow and sweet, and you felt him squirming a little under you with you leaned over him and your hands on his thighs.

When you pulled away, his hands went up to the waistband of your pants.

When you nodded your approval, he removed the clothing, mimicking your motions with care and attentiveness. He was so gentle.

When he sat back on his knees, you noticed something you handn’t noticed before; Astarion was hard. You looked away quickly, not meaning to be rude, but he noticed your gaze and pulled back, sitting on his bottom and pulling his knees up to his chest to hide himself. Hurriedly, he said, his words coming out in one long string, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I think I just enjoyed seeing you like this but I dont want this to be sexual and I dont think I can handle being touched like that right now, but if you want me to touch you I can, I just-“

You hushed him, moving up to place a hand on his shoulder and gently thumb at the skin there.

“Darling, hush now. It’s alright. Its perfectly normal. I dont want anything like that right now either.” You assured him, the nearly scared way he looked up at you breaking your heart.

“You… you’re sure? Im still sorry I got… excited, I guess, I promise it wont happen again.” He seemed almost desperate to convince you he was truly sorry, and you gently cupped his cheeks, tilting up his head to look at you.

“My love,” you spoke, voice nearly a whisper. “I promise, it’s alright. We wont be doing anything sexual tonight, and I’ll pretend this didn’t even happen. Okay? There’s no need to be afraid.”

He nodded, his eyes shining almost as if he was on the brink of tears.

“Okay,” he breathed.

You kissed him softly, which he returned after a moment of hesitation.

You leaned back in the bed roll, saying, “Would you like to continue?” He took a breath and nodded, that signature smile returning to his face, even if it was a little forced. His hands crossed your thighs, calves, giving you a cheeky grin as he squeezed your butt, you swatting at him and rolling your eyes.

“You’re sure you’re alright with this all? You haven’t mentioned anything to me about anywhere you dont like…” he trailed, settling next to you.

“I’m sure. If its you, im alright with anything.”

“What?” He said, looking at you. His expressing was one of confusion. “Why?” He propped himself on up his elbows, looking down at you next to him. “What makes me so special?”

You stared back at him for a moment, equally as baffled as him. “What makes you so- Astarion, love, everything. You’re the brightest light in my life, the reason I keep fighting, you’re my everything. I’ve seen the best and worst sides of you, and you’ve seen the best and worst sides of me. You’re the one constant in my life, and you’re absolutely wonderful. I-“ you trailed off a little, noticing the way Astarion stared at you with an unreadable expression; shock, maybe?

His bottom lip started to tremble, and he said in a shaky voice, “You… you mean that?” Before breaking down in to tears.

You stayed still for a moment as he cried, completely caught off guard, watching him shrink down in to the bedroll, but quickly moved to action and pulled him close, gently hushing him. “Shhh, shshsh,” you cooed, burying your nose in his soft hair and combing through the white strands. “It’s alright, hun, don’t worry. It’s okay.”

The way his shoulders heaved with every fresh round of sobs wrenched your heart, and you felt guilt swirl deep within you. “I’m so sorry, I-“

“Don’t,” he managed to breathe between sobs. “You mean it?” He sniffed, looking up to you with a tear stricken gaze.

“Of course,” you cooed. “I mean it all. You’re my everything.” You kissed his forehead, and he was wrecked by a fresh round of sobs, burying his face in your chest. You pulled him close and held him, rocking him softly as he cried. Your poor, sweet boy.

It may have been ten minutes, it may have been an hour. Eventually, Astarion’s breathing slowly began to even out, and his sobs became few and far between. Is a shaky, hoarse voice, he started to speak.

“Two hundred years. For two hundred years I was locked in that crypt.” Your fingers combed through his hair and his memories came back to him. “Cazador put so many horrible thoughts in my head. About myself, about the people around me. I never trusted anyone again until I met you. I never even trusted myself. A monster, I am, just a creature meant to feed off of the innocent. I haven’t been mine in so long.”

You started to speak, started to assure him that he wasn’t a monster, this wasn’t his choice, but you second guessed. Astarion being this vulnerable was… rare. So you gave him his moment.

“You’ve always been so trusting. I thought you were just stupid at first,” he laughed softly, and you rolled your eyes with a little smile. “But I realized that you are the only person whos ever put faith in me. Ever. At least within my memories. You’re… the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. So careful. So understanding. I dont understand why you care so much, but… thank you. And… I love you.”

Your heart was in your throat, choking you from the inside. You hugged him tighter, kissing the top of his head. “I love you too,” you breathed.

You placed your fingers under his chin to tilt his head up, giving him a warm smile when his eyes met yours. You leaned down to kiss him, pressing your lips against his and closing your eyes, feeling the way he relaxed in to your touch. Your lips moved together, in time as if this were practiced. You pulled away, and he gave you a little smile.

“You’re such a romantic,” you laughed. “It’s adorable. I love it.”

He clicked his tongue and looked away, though the little upwards tick in the corner of his lip gave away his stifled smile.

The rest of the night was filled with stolen kisses, little laughs, and sharing one another’s embrace. Astarion truly was something else, and he saw the same in you. You were the kind of dream he’d always held, a perfect lover who was kind and sweet. You were that. You had been next to him as he gained his freedom, encouraged him and trusted him even when you shouldn’t have. And he was so happy that you had made that choice, now.

.

.

Taglist

@adequate-superstar

@be-a-fish

[angelzofdecay]

If you die

FT- Blade, Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, Welt CW- death, murder, mourning, angst, hurt no comfort A/N- I'm sorry the voices told me to

Being the man that he is Blade wouldn’t react to your tragic passing at first. He would remain stoic concealing all of his feelings of despair and rage. For the longest time he didn’t believe that he could love, let alone be loved by another. The loss of you meant the loss of hope.

If you were murdered by the hands of another, he would eradicate them from the solar system. Anyone who worked with them may as well die too... He’ll need a place to vent out his frustrations. After the massacre and probable bounty put on his head afterwards, he would break down. If you died by illness or age, something he couldn’t take revenge on would be far worse. Blade would have nothing to take his inner feelings out on besides himself and maybe a few rouge robots. Eventually, his facade would be, and he would mourn you. Somewhere quiet, dark and alone and he would succumb to his inner turmoil. He would shed a tear or few but mostly likely scream his anguish and curse what had caused your unfortunate passing. He would never waste his time with another. Once you were gone, so was the last of his heart and no one could fill the void you left. 

Jing Yuan has a bit more composure than Blade. Of course, he would mourn but wouldn’t make an outright spectacle of his. Your funeral would be as grand as your life, and he would spend every penny to be sure your memory was engraved into the world forever. If your precious life was stolen by a living thing, he would use all his power to have it wiped out. Now, if you were taken by an illness, he would make use of his funds by trying to find a cure. A way to prevent it from ever taking another dear life from someone else. Without you the days became dull and fruitless. It felt as though time itself had stopped when he heard the news. Jing nearly fell to the floor when he heard but simply excused himself to run to his private chambers. He wailed once he was alone like a lost child. He’ll feel exactly like a lost child who had lost the person most dear to them. It would take a long time for him to ever recover and find someone new. 

The mourning process for Dan Heng is a combination of both prior characters. Unlike either of them when he heard of your passing he fell to his knees. His breath hitched in his throat, and he swore his heart constricted and tried to kill him as well. Instead of slaughtering everyone related to the murderer or using his popularity and coin to have them destroyed he enlists the help of the Astral Express Crew. They all adored you for how much joy you brought their dear friend so they would stop at nothing to bring the criminal to justice by any means necessary. An illness taking you suddenly would be soul crushing for Dan. There wasn’t anything he could do besides be by your side until you took your last breath. The healing process for him would come slow… He visited your grave on your birthday and the anniversary of your death and left offerings to celebrate your life and afterlife. He cleaned your tombstone so it would shine just like you did. 

Welt is the most mentally stable of the group. How would he react if you died? Probably by becoming an even more stoic recluse. At night he would reach out for you forgetting that you were gone. He swore to protect you and failed, and he’ll never let himself forget that. Why should he live on peacefully when you can’t live at all? He goes by the book when it comes to seeking justice for you, but it doesn’t change the fact, he wished he could make them suffer like you did. He prayed he could make the sickness disappear from the universe all together. When he’s alone he still twiddles with the dumb stuffed bear he gave you that still smells exactly like you. Himeko has done her best to distract him, but your ghost continues to haunt him… Although he finds a sort of comfort in that. 

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

I absolutely love your story’s!

What about one where the reader is has the tendency to just ignore their own emotions? Especially the negative ones. Like they’ll just pretend and act like they don’t exist until it’s some random Tuesday and they’re trying to stop crying in the kitchen cause they did something really small and stupid but it just happened to be the last thing they could take before being forced to cry? If it’s Donna’s emotions they try to be comforting and understanding, trying to encourage her to reach out for comfort and support and it’s just the exact opposite when it comes to their own emotions lol

Yesss!!! Here it is!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes :)))

Emotions

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of depression,angst, mental health problems...

Word count: 3,931

Summary: You were not able to say what you feel, and it was getting worse

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!! Oh, well, just a reminder: if you feel sad, talk to someone, look for help, in this world there are a lot of amazing people wanting to help you :))) Requests are open!! I love you all!!!

You opened your eyes. It was just another day.

You could say that you had been lucky in life. Your family was never rich. It was never more than just one more in the village. Nothing special, nothing remarkable. Get up, work, pray to Mother Miranda and so on constantly.

Why could a routine like that be called luck? Very simple, you found a way to get out of that monotonous and boring life.

You probably wouldn't have been so lucky if you had approached the Beneviento estate that cold winter day.

Meeting Donna was a refreshing change, the discovery that the Lords were also human.

Monster, psychopath and reclusive. Those were the names the villagers referred to her by. You had no way of knowing if it was true or not. You feared her like the others, until you met her.

She was a woman with problems, mysterious, shy, and above all, very far from the concept of monster. It was almost like looking at yourself in a mirror: emotional problems, real rejection of any human relationship. That two antisocial people like you, soon could not live without each other was curious.

How you fell in love didn't matter, it was just fate, or so you thought, or so you liked to think.

Your new life was much better than the previous one, but, just as they told you when you were a little girl: when you try to run away from your problems, you take them with you.

A truth that was difficult for you to understand, due to the feeling of being happy with the woman you loved. The ghosts of your own tribulations appeared to torment you soon.

You were never particularly good when it came to understanding your own emotions. Pain, sadness, anger... Everything that your mind considered as something negative, as something that could prevent people from appreciating you, loving you, were always hidden in a dark corner of your feelings. If you hid them, you couldn't feel them. Or so you thought.

Perhaps that constant joy and the apparent desire to live and enjoy the moment were what caught Lady Beneviento's attention. A wandering soul, with its own emotional problems, could find light in someone like you, in someone who, apparently, didn’t suffer, didn’t hate; someone who was happy, even if it was just a facade.

With a sigh, you sat up, letting your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You were alone, Donna wasn't sleeping next to you and you wondered why you didn't miss her, or why you didn't need to seek some comfort in her arms. You still denied to yourself that you were going through a bad time, an existential crisis and the negative feelings that were taking up more and more space in your mind.

“Angie, where is Donna?” You asked the doll, who remained next to you, as if she could know that there was something wrong with you, that something was going through your head, torturing you.

“She's gone to take a shower,” the puppet answered, studying your expressionless look, that serene look that you naturally forced yourself. You were so used to doing it that it didn't even take any effort.

“She hasn't woken me up?” You asked, rubbing your eyes. Why hadn't she woken you up? Didn't she want to have to put up with you? Why?

Again paranoia and fear took over your thoughts.

Angie simply shrugged, getting off the bed and leaving the room.

No, you couldn't think that somehow you were to blame. You were always happy. In front of her you were always happy. Was she ignoring you? It was very unlikely, but your thoughts were far from reality.

After staring at the wooden floor for longer than you'd like, you got out of bed, looking at yourself in a mirror. Smile: ready, tears: hidden.

You walked through the dark hallways, listening to the characteristic noise of a shower. At least Donna was there. Why were you thinking that she had left you or something? You hadn't done anything for it. That depressive state you had been living in lately was getting worse and worse.

“Donna?” You asked, opening the bathroom door.

There was no response, just a sob.

The woman you loved was there, but she was not well. Her body was curled up under the water. Poor Donna had suffered another crisis and you hadn't even noticed. Once again, you had to put aside your own problems. She needed you. She needed the cheerful and understanding (Y/N). It's not like you needed her comfort, or so you thought.

“Donna, my love...” You whispered, approaching the shower and crouching next to her sad body. “Honey, what's wrong?”

“(Y/N),” the doll maker sobbed, looking up a bit. “I… I don't…”

You sighed, kneeling next to her and letting her throw herself into your arms. The scratch marks on her skin betrayed a panic attack, one of the many that poor Donna frequently suffered.

“Hey, darling... Come on, calm down,” you whispered affectionately, turning off the tap and letting her body settle into yours. “Have you suffered another crisis?” You asked, with your clothes soaked, but without stopping hugging her.

She nodded embarrassedly, clutching the fabric of your nightgown.

How could a stupid existential crisis be more important than Donna's problems? You felt selfish, you felt like you were putting problems typical of a 22-year-old woman ahead of you, instead of hers, instead her own emotions that tended to get out of control.

At least she showed her emotions.

“Come on, that's it, honey. It's okay, I'm here with you, do you hear me? Nothing and no one can hurt you. Come on, Donna, stop crying...”

You hugged her silently, starting to feel cold because of your wet clothes. Donna cried inconsolably, for no reason other than the demons she was born with. How ironic. She cried for no reason and you, with more than one, were incapable of doing so.

“Come on, honey, let's shower and have breakfast, okay?” You said affectionately, to which she nodded erratically, letting herself be carried by your arms.

Most days were like this: a small crisis always solved by your eternal patience and then... Then the tranquility of that life full of love, silent gestures, kisses and caresses.

You didn't understand what exactly the reason for your regret was, but it became more and more present in your emotions. At least in the ones you wanted not to be seen.

The cold of winter washed over your body as you left the house, resting your cup of coffee on the porch railing. If it was winter… That meant you had been with Donna for at least a year. You were so happy that it barely seemed like a sigh, but repressing your sadness or your worries so much had taken its toll on you.

“(Y/N),” a soft voice interrupted your lost gaze towards infinity. Suddenly the cold became much more present. How long have you been out there?

Your expressionless face gave a fake smile, one that you were already an expert at.

“Donna,” you sighed, letting yourself be hugged from behind and closing your eyes. Her hugs were relaxing, calm, although your problems began to cloud the emotions you felt, the positive ones, the only ones you were capable of showing.

“What are you doing out here, tesoro? It's very cold,” she asked in a soft, tender tone, as if she hadn't just been crying uncontrollably in the shower a moment ago.

No, in no way you envied the ease with which Donna cried, showed her sorrows or her weaknesses. But you wondered how she could feel after having let out everything that tormented her, why she had no problem talking to you about the things that made her sad, that made her shake and lose her mind. Surely you had the real problem.

It was time to smile even wider.

“Oh, well,” you said, gently grabbing the hand around your waist. “This morning it was very difficult for me to get up,” you lied, letting her body sway yours slightly.

“I know, you were so pretty asleep that I didn't want to wake you up,” the woman in black whispered, kissing your cheek. There was certainly nothing to tell you that she had suffered a terrible crisis not long ago.

You laughed fakely knowing that, although you had wanted to get up, the invisible chains of your emotions prevented you from doing so. You wanted to never get up, to spend your life in the warm embrace of the sheets, where you wouldn't have to pretend, where maybe, just maybe, you could cry, you could be able to cry.

“Is there ever a time when you don't think I’m pretty?” You asked trying to joke with the naturalness you had learned to fake.

“Mmm,” Donna murmured, kissing your neck innocently, like she always did. “No”

You laughed, this time genuinely, letting your sadness and anguish camouflage themselves again with ease. Maybe it had just been a bad time, maybe you had the feeling of being sad when in reality you weren't, you never were.

If you had stopped to reflect, you would have realized that this was impossible.

Time continued to pass and your desire to get out of bed decreased more and more. There was something inside you that was dying to come out, but you were unable to know what it was, unable to seek comfort that you yourself didn't think you needed.

And so another week passed. Tuesday the 24th, that's what it said on an old calendar. You and Donna were happy. That weird feeling had was nothing to do with her, but everything to do with you. Sadness turned into anguish, anguish from not knowing what to do with those negative emotions, from not being able to express them properly. The smile and your apparently calm and happy attitude were still the protagonists of your life.

“Do you like it?” Donna asked, unsure as always that her food wasn't good enough for you.

The day had started like many others, but, for some reason, that pressure you felt in your chest had grown out of proportion.

“Well, of course, you know I love the way you cook, Donna,” you said with a tender smile, oblivious to the pressure you felt in your body.

She smiled and lowered her head, embarrassingly pleased. You looked at her for a moment and continued eating.

“Oh...” you said when you went to get the jug of water that was always on the table. “I forgot to get water,” you said, without giving it importance but with a knot in your stomach. What was happening to you?

“It's okay, honey, I'll go down and get it,” Donna said softly, wiping herself with a napkin.

“No!” You shouted, without knowing why, making her turn the head sharply towards you, her eye wide open. “I... I... I'll go down, it's my fault,” you said to try to fix that shock that came out of nowhere.

“Don't worry, tesoro. We all make mistakes," she said, with an understanding smile.

You tried to control your breathing. You were nervous, upset about something.

“Yeah, but I make them more than anyone else,” you whispered, as if the truth, a truth that was tormenting your mind, suddenly left your lips.

“What? Why do you say so?” Donna asked, with an air of concern as you walked past her. Her hand stopped you, settling on your arm. You shook your head, not quite sure why your throat was stinging.

“Oh, no, it's nothing, Donna. It was just a joke,” you said, taking a deep breath and flashing a sincere smile, heading to the elevator.

You walked slowly through the dark hallways, aware that something inside you was dying to come out.

“Okay...” You murmured, placing the jug under the faucet. The solitude of that kitchen gave you a contradictory feeling of tranquility and melancholy.

You were thirsty, so before lifting the jug you poured yourself a glass, with the bad luck that your thoughts distracted you enough for the liquid to overflow.

“Oh, shit,” you protested, pushing the jug away, which made it even worse, causing your clothes to become soaked with the liquid of life. “Fuck!”

You screeched, making your voice bounce off the rickety walls of the old kitchen.

“Fuck!” You screamed again, hitting the counter with your fist, hurting yourself.

It seemed stupid, but suddenly the burning in your throat increased to such a point that an unfamiliar moisture began to be felt in your eyes.

After so much time, so much repression, empty mornings and strange thoughts… Finally, you were crying.

The reason? You didn't know specifically.

You were happy. Your life was going well. Donna was a sweetheart despite her problems. She loved you, you loved her. No, Donna Beneviento was not the problem. You were the problem.

All your life you had been wondering what you contributed to the world, what the meaning of your life was. You never knew how to answer. Why did you live in that village? What would have happened if you had been born somewhere else? Would you have been happier? Would your life have been better, or worse? What would your life have been like if you had never met Donna?

They seemed like stupid questions, which came to light with the simple act of spilling a glass of water. Maybe that's what was happening to you. Negative emotions filled your soul, until, like that water, they ended up overflowing.

What was it that made you special? What virtues did you have? How serious were your flaws?

That existential crisis followed you throughout your life almost like the B side of your own shadow. Present, but barely visible. Did you really deserve the life you led? What had you done to deserve it?

No, you didn't deserve that life. You hadn't done anything memorable, you didn't think you were an angel, a good person who cared about others. No, you weren't special. You were a villager like so many others, a strange villager, attracted to women, considered a freak by your own family.

Yes, everyone despised you for the way you were, for being different from the rest. Since your emotions were not predisposed to come to light, you were not able to realize that this was the reason for your depression.

Everyone despised you, except Donna. She loved you, she understood you even though she didn't know she had to. Your cheerful attitude and tireless smiles surely made her believe that you were always a happy girl, that suffering had not happened in your life.

But that wasn't true, it never was true. You had realized it too late.

You had no talents, no great aptitudes for anything. You didn't know how to paint, to work wood or to care of flowers. The only thing you knew how to do was exist and you weren't even good at that.

 That sudden revelation made you unable to stop crying, making everything that you were hiding inside appear in front of you like a tornado ready to destroy everything. Crying wasn't something you did, something you wanted but at that moment, you couldn't stop doing it.

You turned, hands covering your eyes, the emotions you had so repressed eating away at you from within. You wanted to stop crying, but you couldn't.

Your body leaned, lowering itself to the floor with your back resting on the counter. You didn't want to move. You couldn't do anything but shed tears tirelessly.

“(Y/N)?” Your lover's voice reached your ears with difficulty “Is everything okay? The food getting cold...” Donna stopped talking when she turned the corner and saw your pathetic crying on the floor.

“Donna, leave me alone, please,” you said sobbing, not wanting to look at her face.

She remained silent, watching you as if she were seeing something extraordinary.

“Why are you crying, tesoro? I had never seen you…” She murmured confusedly, approaching cautiously.

“It doesn't matter, okay? Go away, Donna, please,” you continued sobbing, looking away from her.

The woman in black approached slowly, putting a hand on your shoulder and studying your eyes hurt by crying.

“But, but tesoro. If, if something happens to you I want to...” Donna insisted, crouching down next to you and caressing your cheek.

Not even her innocent comfort could stop the horrible feelings passing through your body.

“Donna, please, I don't want you to see me like this, go away,” you said again, pushing her hand away from your face, which made her frown with a confused look.

“I want to help you,” she said, with a pleading tone, unable to calm your discomfort even in the slightest.

You shook your head. Another rare feeling, anger, shot through your nerves.

“Help me? I don't want your help!” You shouted abruptly, unpleasantly. “You're not even able to help yourself! So, no, Donna, go away.”

The doll maker stood up frightened by your words, looking at you with sadness and deep pain.

Your nerves calmed when you realized how unfair you had been to her.

“Donna, please go. Go before I say something stupid again,” you said in a low tone, your voice broken by crying.

She shook her head slowly, nervous but calm at the same time. No, she wasn't going to move from there.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N), but I'm not going anywhere,” she whispered, bending down and sitting next to you without speaking, with her gaze away from yours, but without separating from you.

Time passed slowly. Your sobs wouldn't stop, no matter how much you wanted them to. Donna was still there, sitting next to you without speaking, not saying anything that would cause your pent-up anger to explode against her.

Her hand moved slowly towards yours, which had left your face to press tightly against the floor. At first you resisted her hold, but the softness of her skin against yours immediately relaxed your muscles.

You opened your eyes for a moment, looking at your clasped hands. Donna was there, silently, with you. Despite your harsh words, she was still willing to help you. You didn't know whether to feel better or worse about it.

You searched her gaze. Her head was leaning against the furniture, tilted up, seeming almost inert, caressing your hand without even moving or trying to get closer. You couldn't tell if it was because she really didn't know what to do, or because she was giving you the time you so needed.

“I lied to you, Donna,” you said when your crying slowed down enough for you to be able to speak clearly.

She turned her head towards you, but her expression remained unperturbed, although you noticed some nervousness in her breathing. Surely she had to control herself at those words. Miraculously, she did.

“I'm not the person you think I am...” You continued talking, resting your head on the furniture in the same way as her, shaking it and looking at the ceiling. “I was never… I was never happy. I didn't have as many friends as you think. I didn't have any friends. I've never been good at anything I've done. I tried to be a useful girl and I just failed and failed...”

She nodded, but looking away from you.

“I always... They always told me that a smile is the best weapon against sadness, that if I smiled and pretended to be happy I would end up being. I've spent my life pretending that there was nothing that could make me stop laughing.”

Donna nodded again, listening patiently to a confession you didn't even know you had to confess.

“I have, I have always had problems expressing my emotions. I know it doesn't seem like it but... That's right. It's not that hard for me to laugh when I feel like it, or... Even to love you or show you that I love you, because that, Donna, is the only thing I'm sure of.”

The woman in black looked at you, a sad smile appearing on her face, not wanting to interrupt, not wanting to let your hand go.

“I've been repressing my sadness, my anger and... and I feel I can't take it anymore,” you said, sobbing again, leaning your body towards her shoulder, which she gladly offered to you, bringing your body closer to hers, sighing deeply.

“Tell me, (Y/N), what makes you sad?” Donna asked, with a tender voice, with the softest voice you had ever heard, putting her other arm around your body, to not let your demons take you with them.

“I... I...” You stammered, letting yourself be calmed by her lavender perfume, letting her arms protect you from everything bad that harassed you. “I don't feel like I worth it.”

Donna sighed again, kissing your head lovingly and hugging you even tighter.

“That’s not true.”

“Is not? Tell me Donna, why would you love someone like me?”

“Why would you love me?” She asked back, her lips glued to your hair, her arms giving you the warmth your trembling body needed. “I'm not... I'm not fine... I'm just giving you problems.”

“At least you can express what you feel,” you said, lowering your head to her chest, comforted by the beating of her heart.

“I wish I couldn't do it that way,” Donna whispered, her voice breaking too, tormented by her own problems.

“I wish I were able to say what I feel,” you whispered, adorning that phrase of hers with your own, with those problems so disparate and so similar.

“You’re doing it now... (Y/N). You’re doing it with me, and you can always do it,” Donna said, lifting your chin so that your teary eyes could look at her.

A sincere smile crossed your face as that revelation, hidden by your negative emotions, made its way into the darkness of your mind.

“I can always do it...” You repeated, changing crying for a smile, changing sadness for joy. Not a fake joy, a real one, a genuine one. The pressure in your chest decreased as if by magic, as if a few simple words contained your negative feelings. But this time it was different. It wasn't an armored door that enclosed them, but rather one that was open, that would let your torments out whenever you needed it.

You remained silent and moved a bit to be at the level of her lips, kissing them tenderly, with gratitude.

“You are the best thing that has happened to my life,” you said in a low voice, merging into a hug with Donna, letting both of you show what you felt.

“You are the only thing that has happened in my life,” she said, smiling, with the moisture on her face revealing a tear that ran down her cheek.

“Donna...” You sighed, separating yourself a little, squeezing your eyes tightly, feeling a comforting release.

“Listen to me, (Y/N),” she said, with a more serious tone, cupping your face in her hands. “Promise me that you will always tell me what you feel. It doesn't matter if it's a bad thing or a good thing. I... I will do everything possible to always help you. I will always be with you, my love...”

You nodded, feeling the need to cry again, but this time, with joy.

“You will always be with me...” You whispered, repeating her words.

“Always,” the woman in black reaffirmed.

[discountsoysauce]

I don't understand the idea that Victor has no backstory. Like- yeah, his backstory isn't as horrifically tragic and detailed as Eli's is, but we do know a good bit about him from what he's said so far.

His parents are pretty successful, so we can assume he grew up rich. Victor states that they write all of these books about family but have never taken time out of their day for him, even saying something along the lines of the last time they put aside time for him was his birth (not exact quotes, I don't have the energy to look back through the books rn), so we can assume that they were incredibly neglectful, most likely leaving him at home for days, weeks, maybe months at a time and probably not paying much attention to him even in times when they were home. Whether they paid someone to take care of him in that time or he had to learn to be self-sufficient is debatable.

I personally don't think they were physically abusive, and there doesn't seem to be any evidence at present that supports that idea. Verbal abuse is more likely, but I still don't think it was the case. It doesn't seem like they were around him long enough to do either. I don't think those things really need to be a part of his backstory to make it interesting or compelling. His parents were neglectful, and it shaped pretty much everything about who he is.

The biggest and most obvious one is Victor's obsession with attention. There are multiple references throughout the books of Victor craving attention from those around him, namely Angie and Eli. More than anything, Victor wants to be seen. He wants to be a part of something. He wants to be remembered and acknowledged and thought about. He craves the attention his parents never gave him. He doesn't want to be left behind or forgotten.

Being left behind is another big fear for him (I'm mostly speaking about Lockland here, as he becomes a bit less dependent after he becomes an EO, though there can still be an argument made about him latching onto Mitch and Sydney and Dol and Dominic in a kind of makeshift family he never had). He hates seeing Eli succeed because it feels like he's being left behind. He wants to be so intertwined with another person that they can't possibly forget him. He wants to form a connection so deep that it's impossible to sever. To Victor, there's a connection between 'success' and being left behind. He doesn't want to just be an expendable sidekick or an accessory. He wants to be an integral part of someone. Victor's life revolving around Eli is a symptom of his upbringing.

His social skills and general demeanor are also something that can be analyzed. From the beginning, he's set up as the antithesis to Eli, from social class to backstory to appearance to demeanor. They're the same at their core, but opposites in nearly everything else. Compared to Eli, Victor is a total recluse. He hates being around people, he avoids parties, and we barely see him interact with or pay attention to anyone except the people he genuinely cares about unless he absolutely needs to. His demeanor is off-putting, and he doesn't really make an effort to hide that, although he does just enough to make sure he isn't a complete social outcast. Victor grew up in one home with no siblings and parents who were hardly around. Compared to Eli, who was carted from home to home, meeting new people and learning how to blend in all the time, Victor likely doesn't have much in the way of social experience. He didn't have to hide who he was nearly as much as Eli did because there was no one there to see it anyway.

This being said, he is described as being a good liar and able to fool those around him, although notably worse at it than Eli. This one is more of a longshot, but I don't think it's improbable. Victor's parents were successful published authors who garnered their success based on the books they wrote about family. It's possible that Victor had to make press appearances at some point when he was younger, and learned how to lie for the cameras, or he just spent so long out of the company of others that he started seeing other people as more objects to use and less real living people, making it easier to learn the motions of manipulating them. Either way, Victor learns how to do or say the right thing to get someone to believe him, but he states that Eli is much better at actually faking emotions than he is. This is because while Eli spent his life following his father's death surrounded by people and thus learned how to change his entire self to appear more presentable to the general public, Victor only learned how to manipulate people through speech or actions. He can tell you exactly what you want to hear, but he can't put on a fake persona the way Eli can because he never needed to.

In conclusion, Victor does have a backstory, and it informs every aspect of his character, including his relationship to Eli.

[meeblo]

@stalkiwi so, Muelsyse. This is just going to be extrapolations off of Mansfield Break, Dorothy's Vision, and the manhua. I think Mumu also appears in a vignette event or is hinted to, but I haven't read that one so I won't bring it up. No lone trail spoilers.

In 7-10, it's revealed that Elves are heavily discriminated against.

The Aegis of the Infected. The Yeti Squad was one of its subsets, and its members did not solely consist of Infected. The exiles, the fanatics, the maimed, Elves, Durin, and Sarkaz. The guerrillas did not fight for the Infected alone.

While the Durin can become recluses in their advanced underground cities, Elves have nowhere to go. We haven't seen any Elves besides Muelsyse. It's possible they have mostly died off as a result of this persecution. It's important to Muelsyse's character to recognize that she is a member of a persecuted minority, a minority that may have already been mostly killed off.

Mansfield Break introduces Muelsyse at what is in my opinion her lowest point. Saria is no longer at Rhine Lab, Ferdinand is swallowing up Energy and coming for Originium Arts next, Parvis is Parvis, and Muelsyse is entirely alone with no one to plead to but the negligent and indifferent Kirsten. Muelsyse's actions and plans regarding Anthony show just how bad things have become for her. She's so deep in the cuthroat game of Rhine's internal politics she's trying to adapt to Ferdinand and Parvis' tactics, but she isn't Ferdinand or Parvis. She can't manipulate people like Parvis or crush rivals like Ferdinand; her plan with Anthony is solely preventative. Gain custody of Anthony, Ferdinand can't get Simon Co and Muelsyse now has at least one bargaining chip... but what next? What does she do from there? It doesn't advance the situation, merely prevent things from becoming even worse for Muelsyse. It also reflects Muelsyse's increasing desperation that she's willing to think of Anthony as an asset and refer to Ifrit simply as the test subject in Mansfield Break. She's so deep into self-preserving fight or flight that her empathy is being pushed down. But this isn't working for her; she's still losing ground, her plan in Mansfield Break failed spectacularly when Saria freed Anthony rather than giving him over to Muelsyse, and pushing down her compassion is just paining her. Something has to change.

In the Rhine Lab manhua, we see Muelsyse before things at Rhine start to fall apart for her. She's working as an informant for Kirsten, but she's able to set that aside for what she actually believes in. Parvis is still Parvis, but Ferdinand hasn't amassed nearly as much power yet. After Saria and Muelsyse find the tape from Haydn Pharmaceuticals with the horrible things they put Ifrit through that lead to the explosion, Muelsyse closes the laptop solemnly and begins truly helping Saria rather than merely monitoring her. Throughout the Rhine manhua, we can see Muelsyse's compassion towards Ifrit. She has ulterior motives in visiting Ifrit to get some information, but we can see that Muelsyse cares about Ifrit, and continues to visit even after it's clear they won't get any info about Haydn from Ifrit. Ifrit isn't solely "the test subject" to Muelsyse, lil' Iffy is someone that Muelsyse wants to help save. Going against the cover up and continuing to dig places her in danger she could have otherwise avoided, but she continues anyway with Saria. Saria's presence at Rhine is crucial for Muelsyse to feel safe in taking risks for what she believes in. Saria is the backbone of integrity at Rhine and without her there are no checks in place on monsters like Parvis and Ferdinand. Even overwhelmed and weakening in influence, Saria's iron will provides a safety net for Muelsyse. It's implied in the Tin Man scenes that Muelsyse is the one leaking info from Rhine Lab (something Dorothy's Vision's opening scene confirms), an action very much in conflict with Muelsyse being Kirsten's informant. There is a clear struggle between Muelsyse doing what she believes is right, and Muelsyse doing what she believes she has to in order to survive among vipers like Parvis and Ferdinand. Muelsyse is so deeply trapped in the politics of Rhine Lab that she has no way out. There's a scene in the Manhua where she says something about having a good resume if things ever go south, but Saria calls that out. Muelsyse's resume means nothing in the face of the power Rhine has over its industry in Columbia. Saria can walk away because she's the only person Kirsten respects and because Saria has a will of steel, but no one else can escape Rhine Lab; Silence goes to Rhodes Island leading the partnership with Rhine, Mayer goes over as part of this partnership to escape Ferdinand's control over Engineering, etc. Rhine Lab has created a closed system in the Columbian scientific community where the only way out is to another Rhine affiliated company or one of Rhine's many puppet shell companies like HydeBro, Loken Watertank, and Haydn Laboratories. Muelsyse has nowhere to go, but she recognizes that she's clearly in danger, so she is forced to hedge her bets and lean on both Saria and Kirsten for aid.

Dorothy's Vision shows Muelsyse beginning to change after her loss in Mansfield Break. Playing the game failed, utterly, so she's more openly doing what she believes in. If she can't win anyway, she might as well do as much as she can even if it makes her even more vulnerable, so she leaks even more documents. This catches the attention at last of the Columbian military, and leads to Ho'olheyak stuffing her into a mechsuit. Crucially in the opening scene of Dorothy's Vision, we see Muelsyse attempt to call Kirsten for aid. Kirsten doesn't pick up, because Kirsten doesn't give a shit about anyone except Saria. The implication here is clear, in my opinion: Muelsyse was never Kirsten's informant because she was given the task by Kirsten; Muelsyse was Kirsten's informant because she was desperately attempting to make herself useful to Kirsten so that she could have any sense of security that Control might protect her from Ferdinand, Parvis, or the military. These frankly tragic lines as Muelsyse is stuffed into the mech shed new light onto her character:

Cold hard steel clamps down on the limbs, preventing any attempt at movement, never mind resistance. If only tears would flow from the eyes. Mother always said tears were powerful weapons. But the eyes are not cooperating. They have seen too many mountains fall and too many rivers dry up over the centuries. They have seen too many loved ones die. They have become dry, like the land after a nomadic city has passed through.

Muelsyse is old. She has seen so much conflict, death, and tragedy. She has lost too many loved ones, and been placed into mortal danger many times herself for being an Elf. Despite being a compassionate person who wants to do what she believes is moral, Muelsyse is burdened with the weight of centuries of loss and the fear of losing even more. She tries to steel herself to this loss, to stop empathizing, to survive, but it just digs her deeper. She attempts to hide her identity as an elf, does her moral actions like leaking info and comforting Ifrit in anonymity and secrecy, so that on the surface she can appear a crafty and formidable force in Rhine Lab's internal politics, but it doesn't fool anyone. In Dorothy's Vision, she tries to let go and do more of what she thinks is right, and at first all it seems to get her is days on end of suffering. But the latter half of Dorothy's Vision begins to prove her wrong; Doctor and Saria begin to prove her wrong. Their actions are succeeding against Ferdinand and the military, they are able to walk straight in to Rhine, they are able to place themselves into danger to make the change that needs to be made and walk back out unscathed and successful. Whereas Muelsyse always hedged her bets and tried to walk the line between Rhine Lab loyalty and pushing against corruption, Saria and Doctor have no such reservations. Muelsyse is shown that stepping with full confidence towards a cause you believe in can work, and is shown that her own leaked information is making an impact.

I haven't had any Lone Trail spoilers, but I have listened to Muelsyse's song, Morning Dew. I could discuss the lyrics at length but here's some verses I find especially important. I'll put it under a cut if you haven't heard the song and don't want it spoiled.

Overall, Muelsyse is one of the most interesting characters of the Rhine Lab storyline to me. She is a silly elf, that's right, but there's so much depth to her. She's a kind person, a silly person, and yet she also makes an active effort to try and be both of those things in spite of the loss and sadness she's witnessed. I feel that it's less of a coping mechanism, and more of an ideal she wants to be. Muelsyse is fun and silly in spite of what she's been through, not to cover up what she's been through.

Don't let the loneliness stop you from being kind. Don't let them say that your peace is a waste of time. Don't let them crush all your dreams, then change their mind

This first verse reflects the trajectory of Muelsyse's character arc after Dorothy's Vision, and her compassionate nature. She's no longer going to let others disparaging her efforts or outright opposing them get in her way of what she thinks is right.

This room was built for one chair only. I'm not empty, I'm just lonely, tied to the ghost of you. I can be gentle too.

The first two lines here reflect Muelsyse's loneliness as one of very few elves and her isolation at Rhine Lab. She's not empty like Parvis and Ferdinand are, corrupt to the core; she's just alone and desperate. I'm not sure who "the ghost of you" is here, I assume Lone Trail will make it more clear, but I have a few guesses. It could be Kirsten, Muelsyse joined Rhine Lab because of the kind of person Kirsten used to be and is now trapped tied to the ghost of Kirsten attempting to appeal to her for safety against the other sector directors. It could be Saria, that Muelsyse is tied to the lingering influence of Saria that remains at Rhine Lab after her departure. It could be Muelsyse's presumably dead mother we don't really know anything about mentioned in that Dorothy's Vision text.

Oh-ooh... letting me go isn't the only answer. Oh-ooh... letting me go makes the world spin faster. "No one like me" doesn't mean you won't like me. Oh-ooh... I'll let you go, it's a pattern on repeat.

The chorus, reflecting the amount of times people have left Muelsyse behind. Saria leaving Rhine is the obvious one that sticks out, but it's clear that this is a pattern that keeps happening to Muelsyse, and the "No one like me" implies that some of these people leaving did it for racist reasons because Muelsyse was an elf. Muelsyse attempts to make connections, but inevitably she has to let them go as they leave her behind.

Don't let utopia haunt you, there's more to save. Don't stop the search for the perfect, you're smart and brave. Don't let them sail off in anger, just smile and wave.

The next verse continues to reflect Muelsyse's compassion and desire to save people, in spite of being faced with opposition preventing utopia from being possible. "Don't stop the search for the perfect", even while perfection is impossible it's still worth striving for. The last two lines show Muelsyse's acceptance of all the people leaving her life. She's resolved to smile as they go, rather than be angry at it.

The ship takes off, now I'm the captain. Gentle breeze, I'll make it happen. I'm gonna lock the doors, no one allowed on board. I won't choose, I'm not ungrateful; making peace to quell the hateful. Look at the mess you made. I whisper as you fade.

This last verse before the song ends with the chorus again I hope shows where her character arc goes in Lone Trail. Muelsyse is finally taking control of her own life and becoming the captain of her own ship, no longer having Kirsten fill that role. "Look at the mess you made" probably refers to the mess that is Rhine Lab under Kirsten's willful negligence, who is now fading into the distance as Muelsyse is able to finally sail off and escape.

[pinkaditty]

Idia Shroud Thoughts (Twisted Wonderland)

summary: a small collection of thoughts about Idia Shroud to cure my endless brainrot. some nsfw, some sfw. either way, 18+.

a/n: okok i promise I AM WORKING ON THE OBEY ME PERV THING ok i am i swear i promise <3. I just recently started playing Twisted Wonderland again after having uninstalled it like, a year or so ago and i immediately reentered my Idia Shroud brainrot bc he's my fav! more for the other of age characters will be coming soon. silent readers won't be blocked but psa that i do love it when you leave comments, likes, and asks!

PLEASE NOTE THAT I WILL NOT WRITE ANYTHING 18+ FOR CHARACTERS THAT ARE CANONICALLY UNDER 18, AND THAT INCLUDES THE CHARACTERS IN TWST, EVEN IF THEY ARE IN COLLEGE. I WILL NOT AGE THEM UP FOR SEXUALIZATION PURPOSES EITHER. IT MAKES ME UNCOMFORTABLE. PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY. thank you! :)

cw: uwaaa as per usual! some smut implication, gn!reader though mention of underwear is present, sub!idia, annnnd i think that's it. please lmk if i missed anything triggering!

also as per usual! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI. DNI DNI DNI!!! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

Idia Shroud who is...

Idia Shroud who is nervous.

He wasn’t the one to first approach. He was perfectly fine with watching you from afar, daydreams of you placating his intense yearning, and fantasies of you fueling his wet dreams and satisfying his libido. He was fine just being a background character until you grew closer. His nerves ate him alive whenever you approached, and he almost resorted to his old habit of talking through a tablet. But he managed, and you became friends. Every time you were close, he knew it would never be enough. Even when you got close enough to give the occasional hug or playfully punch him in the shoulder after a crushing video game loss, he knew these touches would only make it worse. But he couldn’t stop. He wanted to milk you dry of all the affection you were willing to give him, because it made him thrive, and only made his pining worse. Helping you with classwork, showing you his favorite video games, and inviting you over to do nothing together… It got worse and worse and worse for him until he was at rock bottom, believing his degeneracy could not get any worse. The dreams, the pretending, the yearning… It had taken its toll. Until you confessed. 

Idia Shroud who is possessive.

Not too possessive, but enough. His insecurities fuel his possessiveness, especially when he sees you talking to popular heartthrob Leona or sly tease Trey. His jealousy rises quickly and he can feel the roots of his hair blaze, turning orange before quickly fading back to blue. He cannot afford to lose his temper. It is times like these when he starts thinking about how you deserve someone better than a shut in, but he cannot bring himself to not cling to you. He simply must. Demonstrate that you love and want him and he’ll be happy. He cannot say that the occasional haunting thought of keeping you all to himself is not attractive, though.

Idia Shroud who is inexperienced. 

He’d had the occasional kindergarten or juvenile “relationship”, in which all it took to get a partner was sharing your snacks and offering a flower during recess. He was more innocent then, and less of a recluse. But over the years, he only found more and more reasons to shut himself in, and continued to find them until he didn’t need excuses anymore. The most he’s ever done is hold hands and hug, but even that was with family or when he was five years old. 

When you so much as lean on his shoulder he short circuits and stiffens, unsure of what he should do. When you grab his hand he freezes in place, wide eyed like a deer in headlights. When you kiss his cheek he jumps, shrinking in on himself and looking at you questioningly. It takes him a long time to even blush at these interactions, realizing that they come from a place of fondness and not emotionlessness or malicious intent. When he’s finally comfortable, doing these things in public will spook him immensely, but doing it in private is just fine. He’ll melt into your touches like he’s never been loved before. The thumping of your heart will be enough to soothe him to rest and a twitch of your fingers will be enough for him to grab yours, intertwining his fingers with them. He will breathe and you will be there and that will be enough. 

Don’t kiss him yet, though. You’d have to wait a few months to do that with him. 

Idia Shroud who is a pervert.

He simply cannot get enough of your smell. He doesn’t even mind if it's strong. It doesn’t matter. He will bury his face in your neck when you two are in private, and will do far worse when he’s alone. He often nicks your dirty clothes when he comes by your dorm. He usually takes worn shirts, hoodies, and bras (if you wear them), but will occasionally take a pair of your intimates. What he does with all those is obvious. He often sleeps with them, holding your clothes close to his face and inhaling your scent, pretending he was brave enough to convince you to stay over. And when a growing need makes itself known in his abdomen and his head starts to spin, he’ll wait til he’s alone before pulling out your intimates and shamefully pressing his face into them, wrapping a hand around his length. 

Idia Shroud who is submissive.

Well yes, he knows what sex is, he’s an adult. What he doesn’t know is all the particulars, how fond and loving it could be, how intense and overstimulating it could be, and just how many breaks he’d need to take. Before being with you, all he’d known was that watching hentai was enough to get him off. He knew what he liked in theory, all the twisted hentai fantasies locked under several layers of encryption on his laptop. But he didn’t know what he actually liked. He had never had anyone truly touch him before. When your fingers run down his arm or press into his thigh, he doesn’t know how to react. And when you touch bare skin, it’s even worse. It took you a long time to even kiss him, and it’ll take far longer to initiate and maintain any sort of extensive physical intimacy. But when he’s finally comfortable, you start out slow. You go no further than his torso for a few months, touching him carefully, paying attention to every hitched breath, gasp, and mumble that came from him, memorizing what he liked. When he says it’s alright, you’ll touch his thighs, and if he’s feeling brave, he’ll let you squeeze them and ghost your fingers close to his groin. With your permission, he’ll press his hands to your chest and hold you by your waist, and if he’s brave enough, he’ll squeeze your hips, too. When he finally lets you see his length, the two of you are limited to mutual masturbation for a while, foreheads pressed together and pleasured sighs mixing together. In the passing months, when he’s ready for more, you’ll start touching him, and he’ll start touching you, getting each other off instead of mutual masturbation. And finally, when he decides he’s truly ready, he’ll tell you, and he’ll let you take the lead and pin him to the nearest piece of furniture. 

Idia Shroud who is insatiable.

You’ve had him once, and you’ll have him again, and again, and again. After the first time, you worked together to see what felt and worked right for both of you, and once it was perfected, it just kept happening. He couldn’t get enough. He loved your touch, your taste, and all the sounds you’d make, and he loved how you made him feel. Each time he finished, whether he was inside or outside of you, under you or over you, taking what you had or doing the work, he always felt overwhelmingly yours. And he wanted to be yours over and over and over again, and he wanted you to remind him that he belonged to you each and every time. After taking control of things his whole life, it is immeasurably pleasurable to leave all the decisions to someone else. To be purely at their mercy, knowing he is safe in their arms. He cannot get enough of that feeling, and it’s all the better that it’s with you.

Idia Shroud who is in love with you.

a/n: screams and yells and kicks my feet i love him sm!! anyways i really really hope u guys like this one bc i actually really like this one. i think i did an exceptionally good job this time. again more will be coming for the other 18+ characs, like Trey and Cater and Vil and Rook and possibly Leona. I'll do the profs if asked, maybe, but the reader WILL NOT be a student. again i do appreciate likes, comments, reblogs, and asks!! thank you all so much!

[bobbydagen24]

what do you think about the fan HC idea of Kismet being Branch's Foster Siblings from when he was a kid?

some fans came up with the idea of Kismet having been like Branch's foster siblings following Grandma's death and while I've always thought it wouldn't mesh well with his established backstory.

thinking about it more it could potentially work like I know its not super likely to be made cannon but bare with me lol it could be the first few years following the escape when he was too young to venture on his own Branch was in a home with other displaced kids thanks to Trollstice hence how he met the kismet members.

however maybe when they started their little bad obviously Branch wouldn't join at that point in his life and after a few years when he was a teenager and could live by himself that's when he went to build the bunker by himself in the woods.

and kismet kinda had to give him space eventually given how reclusive he became like when he was in the home he wasn't super social but he deffo got worse over the years I'd imagine. so they went off from the village touring and after the first movie Branch reconnected with them and finally agreed to join the band albeit on the downlow so Poppy didn't know.

so this way he'd have met them as children like a lot of fans wanted but it won't contradict his backstory of refusing to sing back then

and technically it wouldn't contradict Branch's words to his bros in TBT given it could very well still be the case that the kids weren't looked after properly and were mostly left to their own devices given most Pop Trolls just want to have fun.

idk its convoluted for sure lol but personally I like the fan HC of Kismet being like Branch's surrogate Bros and the idea of Branch having been through the Trolls equivalent of the care system gaining hardened overprotective foster siblings that his bio brothers would eventually meet I feel is super cute and interesting to think about.

like imagine an episode of a third tv show that was just foster siblings Kismet visiting Branch but for the first time ever Brozone is there as well and things are very awkward between the two sets of siblings.

with Kismet making passive aggressive Remarks at Bro zone every chance they get and asking Branch about his special interests being smug and Rubbing it in B zone's face how much better they know Branch than they do. tho ironically when it comes to actually listenening to Branch talk about his interests or actually doing them with him both sets of siblings are equally bored out of their minds but try to hide it in front of Branch 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 and threatening to beat Bro zone up if they ever hurt Branch's feelings again.

while pretending to be polite and get along in front of Branch but in the end Branch does Realise the Tension that's been going on between them.

and it turns out Kismet were actually worried that they may be pushed out of their Dorky anti social little foster Bros life now that his "" real family "" have finally come back.

and maybe Bro zone are actually the ones to Reassure them that they don't want that given they appreciate that Branch clearly cares about them a lot.

and the two sets of siblings do call a truce for Branch's sake.

eh I know its not super likely but well they already added 4 never before mentioned siblings into the mix and Branch still has a lot of Grey area in his backstory.

all I'm saying is Branch having overprotective foster siblings is adorable as hell imo and it could technically work in cannon so why not? haha 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

besides Dreamworks ya could do with giving him some posotive additions to his backstory for a change as opposed to just more sad angst.

[darling-i-read-it]

Not Fun Dreams

Dalton Lambert x fem!prophet(esc)!reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: insidious 5 spoilers, some angst, canon level events/violence (descriptions of the readers visions as violence and never being good), shared trauma, a lot of unedited fic lol 

Author’s Note: This ended up a LITTLE LONG good lord lol. I just kept going! I hope you enjoy love, it ended up being a little less angst then I wanted to have some sort of preunderstood relationship. ALSO i made up the art school dalton goes too because I couldnt’ find the name or remember if it was mentioned. When will this movie be available to watch whenever i want smh. Anyway, enjoy!

Requested: by anon, your dalton fics were amazing and if you’re still in the mood to write for him i got an idea! dalton with a prophet esque reader. maybe not full out but maybe they have dreams or in certain places they can see what will happen there but doesn’t get the full event ( mostly negative/horrific things because this is the insidious universe and nobody can have nothing). id imagine they’d be more reclusive than dalton because even though they’re both obviously very traumatized reader constantly has to see these horrific things and not know how to stop them. knowing possibly from a young age where you and the people you love will die. the trauma bonding. the protectiveness. imagine the drama if she knew the whole time he could astral project and didn’t tell him, like being childhood friends and going to the same college as you saw something in a dream (one of the dorm scenes) and are trying to prevent it. i’m an angst girlie through and through and this movie made me worst. please don’t feel pressured to write at all, and i hope you have a great day/night! 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

When you were a kid it was much more simple. It made far more sense to you when your imagination was stretched as far as it could go. It was clouded by the guise of childhood, never knowing what was supposed to happen and what wasn’t. You figured that when you went to sleep and pictures flipped in your head piercing like a migraine, everything was normal. Your parents told you it was just dreams, even when the dreams started to get darker. You saw flashes of people’s faces, drenched in fear as they faced something unknown. The nightmares got worse. You insisted they weren’t nightmares. Children dealt with weird things all the time. 

It helped when the boy next door flew away in his sleep. 

Everyone must have these little gifts then right? All the children had a perk that slightly scared them, one they told their friends about that their parents didn’t pay much attention to. 

You’ll never forget the day Dalton moved. He left the house he had grown up in so that his parents could move somewhere bigger, somewhere to raise the new baby. You remember his little face, matching yours. You had never had a friend you cared for so much. It felt like the world could be taken on when you were with Dalton. 

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, quietly. You knew the answer to the question, even then. You had had an awful nightmare the night before. You had seen flashes of Dalton in bed, tubes surrounding him, IV’s in his arm. 

“My mom says so,” he muttered. You were hunched together in the corner of his house. Now empty, it seemed much larger. You didn’t like being in places that seemed to be experiencing change. You saw enough change. 

“But I’m worried,” you whispered. “Something might happen to you in the new house.” Your voice was hushed. Even then, you knew it was no use in telling his parents. No one would believe you. But you had to warn him because if anyone trusted you, it was Dalton. 

“Maybe it’s just another one of your not fun dreams,” he said quietly. He had gotten used to protecting you from them. You were often shaky when you woke up. He had seen it after a sleepover, cold sweats dripping down your petrified face. “Not one that would come true.”

You had known the lady down the street would trip down the stairs and die three weeks prior. But no one cared to check with the little girl who had silly prophetic dreams. 

“But what if it isn’t.” You pouted, a genuine pout. Dalton put his hand on yours, in a way only children could do. The most innocent of gestures. A sign of good faith. 

“I’ll be okay.” Even then he didn’t believe his words. He had been wandering further and further out in his dreams. You told him to stop, that it scared you. He insisted they were nothing like your dreams. His weren’t real. 

“You ready to go guys?” Josh Lambert asked. He walked up behind you, carrying a book at his side. 

“You’ll call right?” you asked quickly, suddenly overcome by emotion. Dalton nodded eagerly. 

“We’ve got your number, don’t worry,” Josh assured you. “We won’t be that far, right Dalton? Just down the road.” Dalton wanted to disagree but he didn’t. He just nodded, not ready for you to leave his house. Not ready to leave it himself. 

“I’ll call everyday,” Dalton promised. 

After a couple weeks he stopped calling. Your parents wouldn’t tell you why. Just that he couldn’t come to the phone. You could see him in your dreams, desperately lost and you had no way of helping him.

-

You woke up with a start. 

As you grew up the dreams started to become less violent. They were always violent in nature but sometimes you could wake up and not feel panicked. You looked at your bedside table, the orange bottles staring back at you. Some were for panic attacks, some were for general anxiety, some to help you sleep. You debated taking one, wondering if you could stick it out for the day. The thought was quickly dismissed. 

You had dreamt of Dalton. 

You hadn’t dreamt of Dalton since you were a kid, since you lost touch. The memory of it became so blurry over time. There was no way you could have blamed him for it. In hindsight you blame your parents and the cycle of time. You went to different schools and there was no reason to stay in touch because you couldn’t ever see each other. 

You grabbed your phone off the side of your bed. You hadn’t seen much. 

Dalton. Older, taller, handsomer. A full man now, though you weren’t sure why you were surprised. A school, the name of the school just barely on the tip of your tongue. You wrote down everything you remembered furiously. The feeling of dread. A familiar creeping of darkness that you couldn’t quite place. Your dreams were sporadic. Whatever you had dreamt of could still be months out. 

You got out of bed and walked down the hallway. You were packing for school yourself, eager to leave by the end of the week. The car was almost packed with most of your things. 

You reached for your parents phone book. They kept it beside the fridge, even though it was ancient and most of the numbers were outdated. You had given them grief about it before. Everyone had numbers saved to their phones now, what was the point of a phone book?

You ate your words as you flipped through the pages, looking for Lambert. Sure enough, both Renai and Josh were separately listed. You reached for your phone, trying Renai first. 

It rang for a while, leading you to believe the number might’ve been wrong. Then there was an answer and a kind voice spoke on the other end. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi! Is this Renai Lambert?” 

“This is her. Who is this?” 

“Hi Mrs. Lambert! This is kind of weird but my name is Y/N. I used to be friends with Dalton when we were kids?” There was a beat of silence and then a laugh, one you remembered well. You had always liked Renai. She was endlessly kind, always offering you lemonade when you came around. You could still hear her playing songs on the piano while you and Dalton ran around their house. 

“Y/N! Oh goodness, it’s been a while hasn’t it? Why are you calling now?” You smiled, happy she remembered you. 

“I just randomly dreamt of Dalton last night and hadn’t seen him in years. I was wondering if he still lived with you or if I could talk to him?” 

“For sure! Gimme one second.” She moved away. You could hear a muffled call for Dalton. The phone returned to her ear. “How have you been?” 

“I’ve been good! I’m going to art school at the end of the month,” you offered. 

“Really? So is Dalton! Oh, here he is!” There was a moment as the phone was passed along. You cleared your throat. 

“Hello?” 

“Dalton?” There was another beat of silence. You thought maybe he didn’t remember you, which would be slightly awkward. You would have to re-explain everything before he would even believe a word that came out of your mouth. Then he spoke. 

“Y/N?” You let out a breath of relief. 

“Yeah.” He scoffed and you could picture him shaking his head in disbelief. 

“What’s up? Are you okay?” Still the same protective boy he had been when you were kids. 

“I had a dream about you last night and I wanted to call, see if you were okay.” Another moment of silence. You wondered if Renai had left the room.

“A not fun dream?” he asked quietly. You nodded, looking down. 

“Yeah.” You could hear Renai in the background. 

“She’s going to art school too.” 

“Really? Where are you going?” 

“Western. Not far from home, at least, where home used to be.” 

“Me too,” he breathed. “Who would’ve thought?” You bit the inside of your cheek, wondering what it would be like to be back with Dalton again. You had never felt so understood like when you were with him. 

“When do you leave? We should meet up for lunch.”

-

Dalton Lambert had gotten tall. You noticed that first when you saw him. He stepped right out of your dreams and onto his dorm room flooring. You had just missed Josh who had eagerly scurried away. Your parents had left you too. Now you and Dalton were finally in a place where you could hang out away from adults, which was a weird feeling when you were together. 

He had texted you his room number and you knocked on the door. When it opened, he hugged you. It wasn’t awkward or weird. In fact, it felt like you had finally come home. 

“How are you?” you asked. 

“I’m okay,” he promised. He ushered you in. “I’d be better if you told me what your dream was about.” You shook your head. 

“It was just you being here.” 

“You have good dreams now?” You shook your head. 

“That’s the whole thing.” He gestured for you to sit at his desk or at the empty bed beside his. You sat down on his bed anyway, putting your feet up to your chest like you were a child. “I don’t. But I remember feeling bad when I woke up, like something was coming.” You looked over at him. “How are you? How are your dreams?”

He paused for a moment, like he was glitching or buffering. You tilted your head. 

“Dalton?”

“My dreams are fine,” he answered finally. “Not nearly as interesting as yours.” You nodded slowly. That wasn’t exactly the answer you were expecting to get but you trusted him to open up when he was ready. “So do you think somethings gonna happen?” 

“I don’t know. I think I’ll know more later,” you promised, though you only half believed it.

“The last time you dreamt about me I went into my coma,” he said quietly, cautiously. He opened up to you quickly, knowing what it was like to be friends with you when you were a kid. There was something so special about being known before you even knew yourself. 

“I know. That’s why I found my parents' phonebook and called your mom.” 

“At least you’ll be closer this time around,” he suggested. “You’re welcome to hit me in the head if I start drifting off when I’m not supposed to.” You laughed gently. 

“Good to know.” You looked up at his wall. He had started to put drawings up. His mom was in the one above his pillow, at her piano. She looked just like you remembered her. “How is she?” you asked. Your eyes scanned the room. “Oh man, how is Foster? Cali?” 

“Good, good, they’re all good,” he promised, laughing a bit. “My parents got divorced a couple years ago. My dad is slightly losing it.” 

“As all dads do.” Your eyes scanned the wall. There was a picture of his brother. Another of his grandmother, who you only met every once in a while. Above her was a picture you recognized. It was you. You when you were a kid, in a room you no longer remembered. “Is that me?” He cleared his throat. 

“Your call had me looking through pictures.” You glanced at him, smiling a bit. 

“I loved your house so much. It was like a second home to me.”

“It was a first home to me.” You rolled your eyes. 

“We have so much to catch up on. Tell me everything. I have nowhere to be.”

-

Dalton’s room became a second one to you. It was serendipitous, moving from swapping houses to swapping dorm rooms. The transition felt comfortable and seamless. His roommate Chris moved out because she was a girl so you mostly got the room to yourselves. 

A couple weeks in, he started to have nightmares. Nights where you recognized the look on his face when he woke up. It was the same look he had after he had wandered too far, daring you to go with him. When he woke up he looked just like a kid still. Big wide eyes, confused. 

You sat on the spare bed. Dalton had fallen asleep half an hour before but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. There was nothing wrong with just falling asleep there. You had done it before and you would do it again, waking up to his alarm for his early class. 

You laid your head down on the pillow, scrolling on your phone. The night had fallen, indicating that you should let yourself drift off into sleep. You raised your head a bit, wondering if you could easily find one of Dalton’s shirts to wear to sleep instead of your uncomfortable day one. You should’ve asked him before he fell asleep. You stood up lazily, rubbing your eyes. The room was only illuminated by the nightlight at Dalton’s side. He had fallen asleep with a pencil still in his hand, his sketchbook still out on his side.

You groggily slipped the pencil out of his fingers, putting it on the desk. You grabbed his sketchbook, looking at what he was looking at. It was still just lines on a paper, soon to be something beautiful. You put it aside. You were about to turn around when he woke up with a start. 

He lifted his head completely, almost ramming into you. You jumped, startled. 

“Woah!” you exclaimed. He was breathing heavily. He looked up at you, eyes wide. You met his gaze, almost positive what had just happened. “Did you wander off?” 

“What?” 

“In your sleep. Did you project?” He was silent for a moment, still trying to catch up on whatever it was going on in his head. He didn’t say anything for a second, staring at you with bewildered eyes. “Dalton?” 

He finally opened his eyes up to speak but was cut off by a loud screeching. You put your hands over your ears, wincing. The fire alarm was going off. Dalton scrambled out of bed, looking at the door. He rushed forward, pushing it open. 

Down the hall, all the other students were leaving their beds. Most were still muddled with sleep, wearing nothing but their pajamas. You peeked your head out behind him. He grabbed your arm and started to bring you down the hallway to the stairs. It was too tight for everyone so his grip was iron tight, weaving through the confusion. You pushed through the door to the stairs, moving with the herd down. You glanced back, trying to find the source of the confusion. 

You emerged outside into the night. It was freezing. The group dispersed into the courtyard, everyone looking back to the building you had just left. You brushed against Dalton behind you, who had finally let go of your arm. You couldn’t see anything in the building, nothing to indicate a reason everyone was leaving. 

“Do you see anything?” you asked him. He shook his head. 

“No.” You shivered, suddenly very aware of how cold it was. 

“Maybe it was a drill,” you suggested. He nodded slowly, not wanting to argue as his eyes scanned the building. 

Someone was yelling something in a megaphone you couldn’t make out. You tried to find the source of the voice to no avail. 

“What are they saying?” 

“False alarm,” he said, like it wasn’t a question. You furrowed your brows. 

“How can you hear that?” 

“I pulled it,” he said, finally. You turned around to look at him. 

“How? You were right there with me the whole time.” 

“I did it in my sleep.”

“If you knew it was a false alarm, why did we come out here?” 

“Because I wasn’t sure.” His voice sounded far away. You looked back at the building, completely safe in the backdrop of the night. You turned back to him. His look was dreary and unreadable. “You should probably go back to your room,” he said, voice still far away. You tried not to take that badly. It just seemed random. 

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Are you okay Dalton?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” You nodded slowly. People started to pass you, going back inside. 

“Want me to walk you back up?” “I’m okay,” he assured you, some of the life returning to his voice. 

“Alright…I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nodded quickly and started to walk into the crowd. 

-

The next morning you woke up in a daze. You couldn’t quite remember what happened the night before, all of it glossing over your memory like a blur. You grabbed your phone off the side table, your roommate still snoozing away. You had a text from Dalton and a text from Chris, his old roommate. 

Taking Dalton to that frat party tonight. Wanna come? 

You opened that one up first. Dalton at a frat party? You almost snorted. You hadn’t been back in his life for very long but it didn’t seem like his vibe. You opened Dalton’s text next. 

Sorry about last night. Had a weird dream and woke up weird. 

You texted him back immediately. 

No worries. Are you really going to the frat party tonight? 

Almost immediately a little bubble showed up in the white box. You laid your head back down on the pillow. It felt like you had only taken a nap because of the weird in between moments. A text came from Dalton. 

Supposedly. Chris wants me to go. Do you wanna come? 

You glanced at your calendar. 

I have a test in the morning, I think I’ll pass. Thanks for the invite tho :) Try not to get too drunk! 

You opened Chris’s texts back up too to answer her as well. As you were typing out your response, Dalton texted you again. 

Are you sure??? I could get lost, drunk and suggestive. Who would protect me from the onslaught of potential girls? 

You rolled your eyes harder. 

Chris will! 

You turned off your phone to get ready for the day. 

-

You sat on your bed in your dorm room. Your eyes were dropping off to sleep, phone down on your comforter, computer open as you looked at reference pictures. Your sketch book was open, though it didn’t have anything except the bare bones of some sort of idea. You hummed to the music coming from your phone, mind wandering from your work. 

Your roommate had gone to the same frat party as Dalton. You were by yourself tonight as the sun dropped. It was becoming more clear that you just wanted to go to sleep tonight to wake up rested for the test. You picked up your phone, pursing your lips as you tried to decide if giving up homework was worth it for the night. You had no new texts from Dalton or Chris except a picture from Chris’s phone of the two of them there. You smiled a bit. Dalton looked awkward and out of place. It was good that he was branching out. 

Finally you set your things aside. There was no use in trying to do any more work when you were still catching up on sleep from the night before. 

As you placed your head on the pillow a simultaneous pierce through your skull erupted. You grabbed your head at the familiar feeling. Usually you only got visions when you were asleep, waking up to some sort of horrific memory. 

A bathroom. It felt cold, like ice, like the ground hadn’t been stepped on by humans in years. A boy was there, his face shrouded by the toilet. He gripped the sides but his hands didn’t look real. Something was wrong with him. You couldn’t tell what it was. The sound of the door opening, a creek, a sudden stop. 

You dug your nails into the skin on your forehead, willing it to stop. It had been so long since you were awake when this happened. 

Before it subsided you could see Dalton in the doorway. The dread returned, the same dread you had when you were a kid and he was moving away where you couldn’t protect him. You let out a breath that you had been holding. Your hands were shaking. 

Usually you wrote down what you saw, quickly jotting down things you could remember. Typically nothing would stand out for you to take immediate action. This time you jumped out of bed, quickly putting on slip on shoes. You were wearing shorts and a hoodie, clothes to sleep in, when you ran down the stairs. You had never been to the frat the party was at tonight but there were still fliers everywhere and you assured yourself you would find one. 

Thankfully, right on the pole outside of the building was a green poster with the address. You knew where Greek Row was, not more than a five minute walk from your dorm. You turned towards it and started to run. 

By the time you got there you were already exhausted. You crashed through the door, entering a chaotic scene. There were people everywhere, ramming into each other, sloshing drinks on people’s clothes, too drunk to care. You scanned the crowd. You pushed through people, to the staircase. There were people hanging out there, leaning against the railing, leaning against each other. You walked upstairs, searching for a bathroom. The doors were mostly locked. 

You ran right into Chris, leaving the bathroom. You peeked inside but it wasn’t the one from your vision. 

“Woah! You decided to come after all! What are you wearing?” 

“Where’s Dalton?” She gestured to a door down the hall. You rushed towards it, almost tripping over yourself. You swung the door open. Dalton was on the ground, half under the bed, face filled with fear. “Dalton!” He snapped his head back up at you and then back in the air. There was nothing there. “Did you..did you see that?” 

“No.” 

“There was something-” You fell to your knees beside him, helping him out from under the bed. 

“What did you see?” 

“A kid in the bathroom. There was someone in the bathroom and he was-”

“Dead.” Chris emerged at the door frame. 

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Have you been astral projecting lately?” you asked him, voice low and serious. His eyebrows furrowed. 

“Have I been what?” You stared at him for a long time, unsure what he meant. Maybe he just didn’t want to say anything in front of Chris. 

“Dalton come on.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said and he felt honest. He grabbed your hand, willing you to believe him.

“When we were kids you could walk around in your sleep. Your soul left your body or whatever.” You paused, trying to read his face. “You don’t remember?” 

‘No,” he said, honestly. 

“What are you guys talking about?” Chris repeated. 

“We should go,” you said quickly. “We’ll talk back at the dorms.” You helped Dalton up. 

-

Though she protested, Chris left the two of you alone in Dalton’s dorm. The explanations coming out of his mouth weren’t something she trusted and she trusted you to make sure he went to bed alright. Though she did feel bad for dragging him along, unsure if the drinking had something to do with his abnormal reaction. 

“We have to call your parents,” you said as he sat down at his desk. He shook his head. 

“I can’t.” 

“Yes you can. They know what happened here and why you don’t remember it.” You hadn’t known everything about Dalton being in a coma but you didn’t expect him to remember nothing of it completely. He detailed not even remembering being sick. They moved into the new house and then the rest of the year was nothing but a blur. 

“I wouldn’t believe you if I hadn’t just seen it,” he breathed. You grabbed his phone off the table, opening it up. “Wait-” 

“No wait. We have to call your mom. She’ll know what to do.” 

“But this could just be something completely normal. You said I could do it before I went into my coma.” 

“And then you went too far, Dalton. I don’t actually know how far too far is but I know you’re already too close to it.” You held up the phone for him. “Call her.” He looked at you, eyebrows knitted. He looked at the canvas at his desk, completely covered in black, a red door created at the edges. There was something at that door he couldn’t remember anymore. He set his jaw and grabbed his phone. 

“I don’t think this is gonna help.” 

“Put it on speaker.” 

The phone rang for a moment but no longer than that. Renai answered quickly. 

“Hello? Dalton?” 

“Hey mom.” 

“It’s nice of you to call,” she said, half jokingly. “How are things there? Are you settling in nicely?” 

“Yeah mom, that’s not really why I called.” He gave you a look as you sat beside him eagerly. “I’ve been having these dreams and Y/N said you might know something about that.” 

The line was silent for a moment. 

“What kind of dreams?” 

“I can see my body when I leave it. Like I’m walking around in this other world.” 

“Is Y/N there?”

“Right here Mrs. Lambert.” She paused again. The tension seeped from the phone. You met Dalton’s eyes. 

“Mom?” 

“Maybe I should just come up there and talk to you in person. Can Y/N stay with you until I get there?” 

“What? Mom, you don’t need to come all the way up here.” Shuffling came from the other line.

“It’s too hard to explain over the phone. I’ll be there in the morning.” 

“No, mom.” He took a deep breath. “What happened? Tell me now.” His hands were wrapped tightly around the phone. He had grabbed your hand. You couldn’t remember when. 

“You and your father don’t know,” she said quietly. “We made it so that those memories were suppressed. I don’t know how it came back.” She shuddered. “When you were in the coma you went somewhere Dalton. For three months, we lost you.” 

“Where?” 

“A place called The Further.” Her voice was gravely serious. He stared at the ground. The name sent shivers down his spine, like all that repressed childhood fear came back. “You got lost there and things tried to take your body. Your dad went back to find you and…something else came back instead of him.” Dalton looked at the door painting on his desk. 

“How do I stop it?” 

“I don’t know honey. I’m coming down.”

“What about dad? What if he’s going through this too?” 

“I’ll get your father. We’ll come together.” Dalton had nothing to say to that. It must be serious if they were going to stay together for a long period of time like the drive up to school. “Stay with Y/N.” There was a beat. “I love you Dalton.” 

“I love you too mom.” 

She hung up the phone. For a long time you just sat there in silence. You hadn’t ever gotten those answers before, the ones you had only gotten glimpses of when you were a kid trying to sleep. 

“I remember the demon trying to get you,” you whispered. “He was dark…with red,” you said. “I had nightmares about him for months. I kept seeing him get closer and closer but no one believed me.” 

Dalton looked over at you, his look unreadable. 

“He’s trying to get me again,” Dalton muttered. “I can feel him.” 

You shook your head. That was the last thing you wanted to hear. You stood up, letting go of his hand. 

“This is bigger than us. There’s this whole other world and you’re going to it and it’s so close-” 

“But if I don’t go to it then-”

“Are you gonna stay awake? Forever?” Dalton shut his mouth. “Repressing the ability didn’t work so what else is there to do but enter the place?” You shivered. Just the memory of your visions sent chills down your spine. “I haven’t seen the demon recently. I’ve just seen you.” 

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” You nodded. You paced, unsure what to do with all the fear in your body. “We just have to wait till the morning, then my mom will be here.” You both knew that might not solve anything. Still, you nodded. There was nothing else to do but wait.

 “I’m staying here with you.” 

“I don’t wanna be alone anyway.” He shook his head, voice far away. This dorm had started to become a safe haven, despite the places your brain went when you were asleep. It felt much better than your own dorm with the roommate you hardly knew. You’d likely be getting a text from her in the morning, wondering where you were again. 

You sat back down on Dalton’s bed. 

“Are we gonna try and stay awake all night?” He shook his head. 

“If I wake up I’ll just stay right where I am.” 

“That sounds easier than it will be.” It was already late, nearly midnight. You were tired and your heart was starting to slow down now that the problem didn’t seem as pressing. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes but it didn’t do much.

“Are you ready to sleep now?” he asked. You nodded. 

“I really thought I was gonna go to bed early tonight. Looks like I’ll be skipping the test in the morning.”

“I don’t want you to do that. I’ll be fine by myself.” You shook your head. 

“No way. I’m staying here until your parents show.” You yawned. “But I should probably go to sleep soon.” He glanced at the bed on the other side of the room. He knew you would go there automatically if he didn’t say otherwise. He couldn’t exactly explain it but he would just feel safer if you were closer to him. 

He could explain it but suddenly that feeling was scarier then wandering off into The Further. 

“I’ll take that b-”

“You could sleep with me.” You raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. Without so much as a beat you answered. 

“Okay.” He let out a breath. You got up. “Scoot over then.” He looked up at you and your willingness to be so close to him.

“I’ve gotta change.” 

“Then change.” He stood up, walking to his drawer. He shuffled around in there for something acceptable to wear. Usually he just wore his boxers and a shirt but suddenly that felt so revealing. He could see you in the corner of his eye, getting under the covers and getting comfortable. 

You tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal to you that he asked even though your heart was in your throat. 

“Don’t look,” he said. You made a dramatic gesture of covering your eyes. He took his shirt, facing away from you. You peaked between your fingers, admiring his back as he quickly slipped the other shirt back on. When he undid his belt you covered your eyes again. 

“You can stay awake,” you offered. He turned off the lamp on the desk, leaving only the nightlight. He moved the blankets aside so he could sit beside you. 

“I’m exhausted from finding out my memory was erased.”

“It sounds so dramatic that way.” 

“What would you say?”

“Hypnotism.” He put his head against the pillow, facing you. It was rare you were at eye level. 

“That’s dramatic too.” 

You sat there in silence for a moment. You hadn’t seen his face so close to you since you were kids. It was just like the sleepovers you had when you were a kid, just a little less innocent. 

“Are you scared to fall asleep?” he asked, voice a whisper now.

“Sometimes. Tonight I am. I don’t wanna dream about you.” He should be feeling awkward, being so close to you. Instead he felt more comfortable than ever. 

“Then don’t.” 

“I’ll give it my best effort.” Your eyes were so heavy. They closed without you even thinking about it. 

“I’m gonna be awake a little longer. I think I’m gonna sketch.” 

“Okay Dalton,” you whispered and it sounded so incredibly childlike. He sat up a bit, leaning against the headboard. He grabbed his sketchpad off the table. You nuzzled your head into the pillow. “Do you mind if I use you as a pillow?” you asked quietly. 

“No. Not at all.” 

You moved forward a bit and then your head was on his lower chest, arm over him. He put his hand over your back and suddenly sketching seemed much less important than making you comfortable. 

“Goodnight Y/N.”

-

Neither of you had set an alarm. 

Renai and Josh showed up early at 7 the next morning, the sun still slowly coming up. Renai knocked on the door, antsy to see her son. She had explained everything to Josh on the way over. He was pleased to find he wasn’t crazy. 

The knock went unanswered. She took a deep breath and knocked again. 

“You don’t think it’s unlocked do you?” she questioned. Josh tried the doorknob. It opened with ease. They shared a look. 

The other bed was still unused. Laying in the other bed was you and Dalton. You were on his chest, a pencil lazily in his fingers. He was hugging you with both arms, cheek pressed against your head. 

Renai couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. 

“They’re okay,” she whispered. Josh nodded. He wanted to smile at the sight. It felt right. 

“Should we wait for them to wake up?” 

Renai couldn’t help but feel unhappy when Dalton slept. Even years later, whenever he slept in, she was checking on him constantly. 

“They’ll understand.” She approached him, sitting at the edge and nudging his shoulder. He groaned. He was okay. He was there. You nosed your face further into his chest. 

Neither of you had any nightmares that night. Your sleep was as black as it should be, consumed by each other's arms.

[agattthaa]

Only you

Paring: Cassiel/Audrey

Word count: 1.065

Rating: T

Summary: Jealous truly was a all consuming feeling.

Tagging: @rc-catalog

The entire thing was ridiculous. 

The ballroom was ridiculous, the slow waltz was ridiculous, the blond clinging to Cassiel's arm was ridiculous and the said man was even more ridiculous. 

Not that she felt jealous or anything. 

Cassiel didn't belong to her and they were on that stupid ball for their mission. 

He had to mingle, to try to find information about the artifact that would be auctioned later. And who could know better about one of the items of an auction than the auctioneer herself. All of them had received a direct order from Mikael to try to get closer to the woman, but out of all the Astrea's employees on the ball room on that evening, she immediately gravitated towards Cassiel, her grin wicked as he approached her first and started his subtle questions with the fakest smile he could pretend. And she was clearly very excited to answer all of them while her fingers seemed to want nothing other than to take the clothes away from the man's body. 

And Audrey was definitely reacting very normally about the entire situation. 

She definitely couldn't feel the eyes of her coworkers on her as they held their laugh at her almost palpable anger. They were all doing their job perfectly well. Even reclused Raphael was in the middle of a conversation group. 

Meanwhile, her, the one specifically hired to analyze the human behavior and probably the one who had a better shot at making someone slip an information was the on with her hip resting against the champagne table while she held an empty glass on her hand and looked so angrily at the scene that if looks could kill, the auctioneer would already be at the cemetery. 

But she was definitely not jealous.  

Except for the fact that she was. 

She was very jealous. And she knew that very well although she would deny it until her last breath. 

She was jealous. Furiously so. 

More than ten men had seen her completely by herself with that red dress clinging to her body and tried to approach, but the fury seemed to almost emanate from her body and just a look was enough to send them back to the hole they came from. 

So furious that even from so far, Cassiel noticed, his smile instantly turning into a genuine one. And that only made her angrier, her grasp against the glass so strong that she could feel it trembling on her hand. 

But the woman in front of him also noticed the change on Cassiel’s face, believing that such a smile was for herself, her hand immediately climbed to his shoulder. 

Raphael grabbed the glass on Audrey’s hand before she made it explode, or dropped it, or worse, smashed against the woman's head. Only then she noticed that all her coworkers were around her, all three of them clearly having a lot of fun with the situation. 

She could feel his presence behind her even before she noticed how bigger David's and Felonia's smile were now. 

She didn't turn around to see him.

She wasn't going to give him the pleasure. 

Not until he simply let out a simple sentence.

-Let's dance. 

And that made her turn around, not believing how shameless he could behave. The little voice on the back of her head trying to remind her that he was just doing his job was completely drowned by her possessiveness. 

It seemed that he only understood how upset she was when his eyes met hers. She got upset with him frequently and about any and everything, but never like that, never that much.

-Calm down, Romeu. We need to know what the miss flirt there told you. 

-Nothing. All she did was call me to her room and avoid all my questions. -He reached for Audrey's hand when he saw her face twitching, lacing their fingers together and softly pulling her closer to him. -Dance with me?

Now it did sound like a question, one that she had no idea of why she nodded to. 

Maybe the little voice of reason in her head after so much fight was finally being heard. 

Maybe it was the feeling of his hand on hers and the silent plea in his eyes that showed he was capable of melting her anger like ice on a summer day. 

It was definitely the first option. 

And yet, she let him guide her to the middle of the ballroom, staring straight into his eyes when he stopped, placing his other hand on her waist and pulling her closer, slowly swaying to the music. 

Audrey's remaining anger did a 360° shift into satisfaction when she noticed that the situation was now the reverse. The blonde woman stayed a couple of feet away, watching the scene with her arms crossed above her chest and an expression of pure jealousy. 

Audrey pulled Cassiel closer. 

-You are so easy to please sometimes.

-I have no idea of what you're talking about.

He squeezed her waist, grinning as she pulled him closer again, closer than they should be, not close enough. He pulled her even more to him, pressing his face on the side of hers, rubbing his nose against her skin and whispering in her ear.

-You looked like you were about to commit a murder and now you are shining of happiness as you show me off. Didn't take you for the jealous type, Audrey.

It was as clear as the day that he did it on purpose, he knew fully well the effect that the way that he whispered her name caused. But two could play this game. Her hand left his shoulder and she was now almost hugging him by the neck, pulling away and looking deeply into his eyes.

-I'm not very good at sharing what is mine, Cassil. 

And the grin on his face could only match hers as it was the only one that he wanted to.

-Good thing you don't have to share then. -He spun her around, rubbing his nose against hers when she was in front of him again. -There's only you.

And now the only thing on her smile was happiness. They didn't need to talk about the implications of that. Not now. Not when his eyes shined on hers with the same feelings. They both already knew.

-And there is only you.

[jacevelaryonswife]

I want you so bad (it’s driving me mad)

You avoided thinking about your neighbor like that since he didn’t seem to care much about your presence. Even because he wasn’t even that handsome... (it was a lying thought).

pairing: Billy Washington x Fem!reader

warnings: smut, english is not my first language

ewanverse masterlist

Your new apartment was simple, just like the rest of the building. It was smaller than the house where you grew up, but it was exactly what your academic scholarship could afford. It was strange to be away from home and deal with different people, although you liked to get to know new places, you hated changes — especially in the first days. Your new home wasn’t also the most beautiful, but in addition to the previously mentioned, you opted for a basic place to be able to have other good things and live with a certain comfort.

Over time, things got right, new people came into your life and your neighbors became more receptive, one less: Billy Washington, your door neighbor.

He wasn't rude, he just appeared to be a reclusive person. At first glance there was a certain strangeness on his part with your arrival, you didn’t know for sure the reason, but you recognized a certain discomfort in him when being in your presence. Maybe he was an idiot incel, you thought, or just a handsome weirdo, but gradually some words were exchanged by you in the corridors and stairs, albeit few.

In fact, a little mistrust about you hit you at first, after all what did a girl like you do in a place like that? But the main factor that made you quiet and uncomfortable next to you was how hot you were, truly hot. He was going through a difficult situation, no girlfriend, no job, no nice friends, and his appearance and apartment were shit. You couldn't have arrived at a worse time. He tried to be apathetic to your presence in the first weeks, and even thought he had managed not to draw attention, but when he saw your sympathy with the other neighbors... damn, how he wished it was with him.

And how stupid he felt for having acted as he did, since at no time did you undo him or treat him like a loser.

In fact, you thought his disconcerted way was cute, really cute. Since you saw him, Billy had drawn your attention physically, with his tall size, attractive face, beautiful neck and incredibly large hands... your fertile period was too aggressive not to think about what those long fingers could do to your body. You avoided thinking about your neighbor like that since he didn't seem to care much about your presence. Even because he wasn't even that handsome... (it was a lying thought).

But then, in a touch of slow magic, he began to greet you — since that habit was put into partial disuse of you for him — and act more relaxed as much as possible. Soon, quick and usual conversations were exchanged between you. Questions about the traffic, the weather, or if any correspondence was sent by mistake to your home, until they evolved into personal questions, about your college, where you previously lived, his family, your family, his friends, his motivations...

In that time, Billy learned a lot about you and your friendly way, getting comfortable by your side as much as possible. He didn't want to look like a perv while looking at your body in those beautiful and well-chosen clothes you wore, which totally valued you in his eyes. But as time passed it was even more difficult not to imagine sexual situations with you, he can thank you for this, because for the first time in a time his apartment received a demanding cleaning to receive you, his own appearing also received an improvement by trimming his beard and choosing better clothes, on these days, he didn’t feel so discouraged to see sun rays enter through the window

As for you... well, Billy was a pretty little thing, wasn't he? His unique face fascinated you, with his icy blue eyes, attractive lips and sharp nose. His hair was also beautiful, in a dirty blonde tone that made him especially charming. Maybe what you liked the most was how shy he was, it was almost sweet to see, and for you it also started to get difficult not to imagine him melting below you. Damn it.

Now you two were in complicated positions on each other, both not wanting to compromise the thing that was germinating with vigor, but at the same time, desperately, you physically needed each other. Therefore, in a casual conversation in your apartment, while you were watching an average movie, you mentioned the desire to go to the new pub that opened a few blocks from the building, inviting him.

“We can go tomorrow if you want,” Billy suggested.

"I want to!"

Even thinking about the phrase, none of you wanted to say that it was a date. Even because it wasn't! (Or was it?)

No, you were just two adults who wanted to go out together, it wasn't necessarily a date. That day he had a job interview that ended at a time very close to the d-... fuck that, it was date, yes, that was what it was, so he didn't have so much time to change his clothes and preferred to go a little more formal. And hell, he almost fainted when he saw you in that black dress, he knew he should open the door for you to get, but was afraid that you would notice the suspicious volume in the center of his pants.

Fuck.

As soon as you got into the car, you almost ordered him to park in a dark and quiet place to fly in his bowels. God, he was so handsome and radiant that night.

As the hours passed, conversations and light drinks watered your table. Billy told about the interview with enthusiasm and was totally confident that he would get the vacancy. You congratulated him with a hug and kind words, truly happy for him. “I hope you make it, Billy, I'm rooting for this a lot,” you said.

That was the best moment you two had together, so far. See you back home.

“That was very good, we should go out more often,” he suggested when you arrived at his door.

“Totally, we really should do it again,” you leaned over to kiss his cheek, making him close his eyes briefly.

“I agree again,” he said shyly, circling your waist.

He couldn't be clearer in his actions at that moment.

Approaching to his body again, you whispered near his lips: "Perhaps, that’s not the only thing we should do." And so, you kissed him, slowly and experimentally, for fear of him denying it. What wasn't done. Billy held you by the waist and back during the kiss, as needy as you, doing his best to try to disguise it. "What if the night doesn't end now?"

“I think it's a good idea,” he agreed with a restrained wolfish smile.

Oh boy, any existing elegant restraint succumbed to burning desire. You brought him to your apartment, taking off the black blazer that covered him and discarding it on the couch. He kept kissing your lips as you guided him to the bedroom, kissing your jaw and neck when your legs touched the bed. Your eyes closed with his lips wetting your soft skin, holding on to him to let him touch your body from top to bottom.

As the search for a zipper on the cotton clothing was flawed, Billy slid your dress down, exposing your half-naked body to his admiration.

“Fuck, you're so beautiful,” he sighed as he groping your free breasts. He's never had sex with a girl like you before, and if he kept thinking about it maybe he would collapse.

“You too, baby,” you captured him for another kiss, having fun with his hypnotized look. Helping him get rid of the shirt, you were surprised how deliciously defined he was, how beautiful and attractive he was like that, he took off his shoes quickly and you anticipated to remove his belt and pants, delighting in his hard member over the fabric of his underwear. He let out a sly moan when you wrapped him with your hand and gently separated him, massaging for a few seconds.

So reactive, such a good boy.

He held your waist and squeezed your ass when you stopped your movements, laying you on the bed with his body on top. An open smile stamped your face when Billy began to kiss your body eagerly to taste your skin, sucking your breasts, kissing and licking your belly, squeezing your sides, when he finally removed your panties and came across your wet pussy and ready to receive him.

He almost moaned when he asked: "do you want me to get some lub?”

"No, just take the condom."

Billy was shy when he reached the package in his wallet in his pants pocket, removing his underwear from his back to give you a glittice of his delicious white ass. Damn, he was so handsome. A beautiful and nervous thing, since he was almost shaking when he tore the plastic carefully and put it on his hard and needy limb. He was so nervous that he didn't hear your movement when you got on your knees on the edge of the bed, but moved to kiss you again. That had to be a dream. But then, when he tried to climb over you again, your hands stopped him and silently instructed him to lie on the bed.

From that, when you fit over his cock, everything turned into a wet and hot blur. You melted into each other, moaning loudly in your initially slow movements. Your hips rubbed against his until they went up the first time, moving at a constant pace that made you close your eyes to enjoy how filled you were. Billy held your hips with his dear life, almost unable to think of anything else. He was noisy, which only made you go faster, killing the poor man of the heart.

“Fuck,” he moaned, beating his hips to yours, making you moan like a greedy whore. Suddenly, you realized that you wanted him to fuck your pussy from behind, stopping your movements to change position. Damn, he believed he was in the best place in the world when he saw his ass prancing just for him.

He wasn't so slow to fill you again, holding your hips and ass with possessiveness before hitting your wet pussy eagerly. Oh! The new angle was scorching, burning you whole body and making your toes writhe with pleasure. Oh dear, how he wanted to last longer, but when you started squeezing him and moaning loudly and constantly he knew you were coming, he longed for it, to fill the condom after his orgasm. He hit your ass

“Billy!” You exclaimed before coming on his cock, moaning loudly with the white heat that blinded your sight. Damn, your satisfied smile increased when he tipped your hips with his while standing still for a few seconds. Any self-control he intended to perform fell apart when his name echoed through the room. What did he do to deserve a girl like you?

“I'm going back,” he said when he got up with almost wobbly legs, walking to your bathroom to discard the condom.

You lay with your head on your pillow while you waited for him, a sly smile on your lips when you saw him red and embarrassed when you lay down next to you. He was so handsome. “So we really should do this more often,” you said, snaking his chest with your fingers.

He smile at you. “Yes, we totally should."

————————

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