#He suffers and therefore I suffer and it's so worth it....

[the-magpie-archives]

One episode of TMA that I will NEVER be able to shut up about is 170 (Recollection). The first episode that made me properly cry! Not only is it a beautiful exploration of Martin as a character, but humanity in general.

The light, innocent, childish small talk that Martin offers to the tape recorder. He tries so hard to keep it comforted, welcome in his home, looked after. It'd be wrong of course, to ignore it, even in his despair; others should always be put first.

Through tangled, rambling sentences, Martin manages to always explain away his own emotions, actions... To be visibly uncomfortable, unwelcoming, is wrong. He offers up his life, details of his existence, but talks them into offhanded mentions.

The subtle embarrassment he has for himself; a hallmark of much of English society. Everyone must be a self contained functioning person, lest they risk being 'odd', 'troubled', perhaps even 'disruptive'.

And as Martin's inhibitions fade, as his memories of everything grow dim, his instinctual desperation shows so painfully through. Desperately reaching for answers, as a child desperately holds their hand out for an absent parent.

Martin never had a safe person to reach for, someone always there for him. His father gone before he really knew who he was, his mother infinitely distainful... This abandonment mirrored by Jon's absence that floats into his mind in phases.

And even to be denied the pain, to forget what you were crying about, there's something terrible about it. Feeling the lump in your throat, the tears on your cheeks, but never really being sure why they were there, if they even are.

And the chairs. To be denied the simple comfort of a soft place to rest.

Martin's eventual return to his duties, caring for his mother, the subtle falsified joy he finds in it, and his decline into self hatred, blame. How easy it is for him to find his way back to a place of insecurity even when he has nothing to grasp onto.

And how strong he stays. How ready he is to shoulder the blame, to carry on, to be there for anyone who might need him, anything. It's all outside, and when he falls deeper into the fog his internal, pressed down emotions spill out.

All of Martin's fears come from a place of worrying he isn't enough, and this domain reduces him to a state where he is nothing; and yet, he prevails.

[flufflecat]

working on a project

[pollyanna-nana]

One of the most tragic and compelling aspects of Dunmeshi, to me, is that we’ll probably never know (unless Kui tells us lol) how Delgal actually felt about Thistle. I’ve seen people say that he genuinely cared for him as a brother and his journey to the surface was to save him from his madness as much as it was his people. I’ve seen people say that he saw Thistle as nothing more than a fancy accessory or tool that ended up going astray. Others I’ve seen (and personally agree with) say that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. But honestly, I think any one of these interpretations has the potential to be correct… and that’s just heartbreaking.

After all, Delgal is dead. Like, dead-dead. The very first chapter of the manga starts with his spirit leaving this mortal coil, taking that answer with him. And…

How he talks about Thistle here… it’s interesting. He does not ask for him to be talked down, or captured or imprisoned, but instead “defeated”. Which Mithrun interprets as asking for his death… which is reasonable, because that’s likely how the vast majority of adventurers interpreted his words, too. Obviously as he was crumbling to dust he probably didn’t have the capacity to be particularly verbose or explain the complex backstory to how the kingdom ended up this way, but the effect is the same no matter how he may have felt with it. He asked for Thistle to be killed.

But… even in situations where he wasn’t under any such time limit to explain what was going on, he still seemed not to. Most glaringly:

Yaad seemingly has no idea that it was Delgal’s fault that Thistle sought the demon’s power. Obviously he couldn’t talk to him about it because Thistle was, uh, a little out there by that point, but why didn’t Delgal explain? Was he embarrassed? Mournful? Couldn’t find the words?

Delgal was scared of dying. He wanted prosperity at any cost, and how could Thistle possibly refuse? Did he even realize that what he was the one who pushed his own brother— One who basically helped raise him despite being a child himself, and in many ways is still a child— down this path? Or was it like watching an overzealous employee misinterpret directions?

The way Yaad describes things here makes it sound like Thistle simply dug too deep in his studies and fell into madness, but we know that’s not true. Delgal didn’t “suggest” he learn magic, he wanted a mage who could help himself and his people defy death, which he admits to Thistle openly:

So, why? Why not tell his grandson, at least, the truth of the matter? Did he worry it might make the remaining residents more likely to upset Thistle, and therefore suffer the consequences? Did he just not care? For what it’s worth though, Yaad does suspect the truth from Delgal’s behavior.

He “always blamed himself” for his descent into the dark arts. This is just Yaad’s observation, and that’s without knowing that it was quite literally Delgal’s fault Thistle went down this path. So, why? Why was it all kept a secret?

Of course, this made things ripe for the winged lion to manipulate to its advantage. Clearly despite knowing he’d pushed him into using it, Delgal still thought the lion was a force of good that was misused by Thistle as a result of his madness. His face in that last panel is particularly haunting. He looks terrible, gaunt and pale with overgrown hair and missing teeth. Had he gone mad, with grief and sorrow, as well?

Could he no longer see Thistle the way he did when they were younger? No one can ask him, because he died long before the story even began.

To go back to the original question, well, how did Delgal see Thistle? None of the previous points make a definitive answer any clearer, and I think that’s just brilliant. And so, so tragic.

[michelle-is-writing]

Concussions, Greg House

Word count: 1.7k~

Warnings: mentions of vomit, concussion, hospital rooms.

Arguing with your boss is one of the worst things you can do with your boss. For my boyfriend of almost a year, it was nothing new. Plus, in Greg's mind, there were worse things one could do with their time. Like argue with me, his girlfriend - that was much worse than arguing with his boss, according to him.

Still, that didn't mean that he could always get away with arguing with his boss. Especially around Christmas time when the hours were needed and he just so happened to be an asshole. Anyone could figure out why I was upset when he told me he was unable to get Christmas Day off. He just had to be rude to Cuddy the day before he asked, and because of it, we both have to suffer.

Despite him promising to call me almost every hour, I still felt lonely when it came to Christmas Day. I woke up without the love of my life beside me, and I'll be alone until he gets home around nine in the evening. When Cuddy told him she couldn't give up the hours, he was especially rude in response, therefore earning more hours to work that day.

Right now it's around eleven in the morning, and even though I've put on a Christmas movie and made myself hot cocoa, I still feel sad. I have no one to spend this great day with, and it sucks. Maybe a nice walk outside will help me feel better. It's cold and snowing, but I can always wear a heavy coat and boots - no biggie. Besides, I may even see a pair of cardinals flying through the white sky like a holiday card straight from the hallmark section, and it would make the weather all the worth it.

Slipping on my fuzzy black boots that Greg got me at the beginning of our relationship, I throw on my fleece coat before heading out front. The lights strung on everyone's apartment are lit up, and the people that have their Christmas trees in front of their windows have them lit up as well. The green and red bulbs are a nice contrast to the white snow that fills every window sill and yard, making it look almost like a floating blanket on all the little segments of grass. It's such a beautiful sight to see, but it makes me miss Greg even more. He's always pessimistic, but even he would be happy with the looks of everything.

Stepping off the steps and onto the pavement, I take a few steps forward, only to look up and see a pair of cardinals flying above me just like I wanted. I marvel at the beautiful red shade of the male next to the equally beautiful olive colored female floating next to it. When they find their mates, a pair of cardinals can never be separated as they are mated for life. The idea of such a thing makes you smile, but the idea of finding your own true mate? It feels nearly impossible.

I seem to find the cardinals very distracting as the next thing I see is the pure white sky above me as I feel myself slip, my arms and legs flailing to grab onto something as I fall backward. However, they don't, and I end up landing on my back with my head colliding against the ice I slipped on. Everything happens so fast that I barely recognize the pain rushing to my cranium or mine and Greg's elderly neighbor rushing toward me as concerned words flow out of her mouth. Despite wanting to respond, I can't, and instead, my eyes close as I feel myself slip into a vast sea on unconsciousness.

It isn't until I finally wake up once again that I register the pounding pain in the back of my head. It nearly makes my eyes roll back, but before I can even do that, I quickly lean over the edge of the surface I'm lying on and feel the contents of my stomach empty. I soon feel a pair of hands gently pull my hair back as I do so, my eyes clearing up enough to watch a nurse’s legs in purple scrubs quickly push a trash can in front of me to finish vomiting into. However, it doesn't take long before I’m done and I almost fall back onto the slightly stiff surface I'm on, a damp cloth wiping at my mouth once I do so. Flashing my eyes throughout the room, I recognize the bright fluorescent lights above me as ones used in a hospital room and the surface I'm on is one of the uncomfortable beds in a hospital room. Great.

Turning my eyes over to the source of the hand holding the wet cloth, I find it to be the man I've been wanting to see all morning, a worried look etched onto his face. I want to fling myself in his arms and hug him, but my almost drunken haze prohibits me from doing so. Instead, I languidly smile and tiredly reach a hand up toward him, to which he takes in his own hand with a small smile.

"How in the hell," he begins, his voice taking over the almost stuffy noise in my ears. Gently running his thumb against the back of my hand, he takes the damp rag away from my face before tossing it onto the lid of the biohazard bin a few feet away. "Did you get yourself a grade two concussion just by walking outside?"

"I didn't mean to," I defend myself, trying to sit up a little, despite the deep pounding in my head. Greg helps me, but not before pushing my head back against the pillows to angle my face upward. "I just wanted to go for a small walk, and see some cardinals maybe! I did, by the way, and man, were they beautiful."

"You seem to be doing better than I thought," Greg points out, hovering over me to look into my eyes with a flash light. "No confusion or seemingly dizziness," he lists off. "You just seem fatigued and dazed, which is to be expected. The good news is you don't have memory loss."

"Who are you again?" I quickly throw at him, earning a downcast face with a frown. I immediately laugh at his reaction while reaching up to take his face in my hands, but his hands catch mine before they're even halfway there. I really am tired.

"I would say you're also having some psychological disturbances, but it's nothing different from usual," Greg jokes back, making me laugh again. At this, he smiles, but continues on. "How bad is your head pain?"

"Compared to the constant headache you give me, it's nothing," I tell him, once again, earning an eye roll in response. I know he's wanting to throw playful insults back at me, but he's trying to keep the moment as serious as he can. Don't get me wrong, I understand how severe my situation is, but I just can't help but take the chance to banter with Greg like he usually does with me.

With a sigh, Greg sits back in the armchair beside my hospital bed before taking something out of his pocket. "You just had to hit your head so you could end up in the hospital with me today," Greg chides, holding the rectangular box in his hand as he stares at it. "I guess irony plays a huge part in life's never ending game of... slipping and falling on ice!"

With his sarcastic comment, Greg pushes the box toward me as I smile at him, my hand reaching out to take the box from him. "Open it," Greg tells me, scooting his chair beside me to be closer to my bed. Doing as he says, I shakily unwrap the green ribbon from the box before slightly struggling to open it, my hands trembling from being asleep for so long.

With the maroon velvet box now open, I gasp upon seeing the diamond tennis bracelet shining back at me with the bright hospital room lights causing each beautiful crystal to sparkle like a thousand pieces of glitter. "Oh my God, Greg," I mutter, my eyes flashing over to him beside me. "This is... beyond gorgeous."

Smiling, Greg lifts one of his hands to brush my hair away from my face before using the other to take the bracelet out of the box and secure it around my wrist. "Merry Christmas," He tells me, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "I thought you would like this."

"I-I love it, Greg," I tell him, looking over at him with a frown. "But I don't have my gift for you! They're at the apartment and-and I wanted to give it to you so bad-"

Greg cuts me off from my rambling, an almost flabbergasted expression washing over his face. "Are you kidding?" He sarcastically asks me, reaching over to take my now diamond covered hand in his. "You ending up in the hospital with me is possibly the best thing you could do today, as morbid as it sounds," Crinkling my face at him with amusement, I shake my head at his demented words as he continues on. "This means I don't have to do what Cuddy says and stay in here with you and watch I Love Lucy."

Just as he says this, Greg takes the remote from the side table and turns the TV on, flipping through the channels before finding the show mentioned seconds earlier. Glancing away from our intertwined hands, I smile at Greg as he turns to look back at me as well. "I love you, Greg," I tell him, receiving a smile back before he leans over once more and presses a kiss to my cheek.

Sitting back in his chair, Greg keeps my hand in his as we both look over to the TV and watch as Lucy banters with Ricky just as Greg and I did moments ago. At this, I smile and ignore the pain in my head as I enjoy the positives of today despite being in a hospital. My loving partner beside me, a beautiful diamond bracelet on my wrist, and I Love Lucy reruns on the TV in front of us. As long as I'm with Greg, it doesn't matter where I spend my Christmas - just as long as he's by my side, I'll be fine.

[venus-light]

Good Omens S2’s ending is so agonising, but I do think it’s going to make Aziraphale’s development significantly more impactful in S3! As a second act this has every painful, fascinating ingredient that made Zuko’s arc in ATLA so outstanding, and Aziraphale’s core conflict/fatal flaw draws from the heart of his character!

He loves Crowley deeply but he’s still clinging to Heaven’s brainwashing, and he’s never actually treated Crowley as an equal or sought to understand Crowley’s perspective yet.

Aziraphale still seems to believe Crowley is just a ‘lost, confused angel’, rather than recognising what Crowley is actually doing: rejecting the system entirely and trying to do good on his own terms. Aziraphale still believes the desire to be Angelic and the desire to be good to others are the same thing, therefore if Crowley is good (as he’s shown himself to be) he must be secretly want to be an Angel and is betraying that whenever he argues against Heaven.

Aziraphale still hasn’t listened when Crowley explains over and over again that he DOESN’T WANT TO BE AN ANGEL. He’s still desperate for Heaven’s validation, even after he chose to leave, and there’s a deep void in his identity! He wants so desperately to be seen as “Good” (regardless of the actual morality of his actions) that it’s used over and over again to coerce and manipulate him! He also wants desperately for Crowley to be “Good” too, because at this point Aziraphale couldn’t ever let himself trust or accept Crowley if he wasn’t.

Aziraphale’s ‘angelic superiority’ is still constantly used to prop up his own identity, and he still considers deviance from Heaven (both in himself and others) as something shameful, embarrassing and in need of being ‘Corrected’. He also still believes Crowley needs/wants to be “Forgiven” by Heaven and that angels are inherently superior to everyone else!

Aziraphale’s default response to suffering being to make it about Heavenly purity rather than empathising with others also makes him extremely blind/self-centred in some situations. He’s proven that he’s willing to adopt empathy - the force that drives Crowley to compassion and forgiveness - if it helps to do good for others, but it’s still a very undeveloped skill in him.

At the start of this season Aziraphale lets Crowley sleep in his car for God’s sake, and apparently only calls Crowley when he wants something! He takes Crowley’s devotion to him for granted, and dismisses Crowley’s feelings and perspective on Gabriel instantly! Whenever they disagree on anything Aziraphale just assumes that he is Good and Crowley is Evil, therefore Crowley’s perspective isn’t worth taking seriously. And Crowley loves Aziraphale so much and is so afraid of losing him that he just… concedes. Over and over again. And keeps on forgiving him without Aziraphale ever realising how deep he’s cutting Crowley. Even now, Aziraphale still sees everything as a dichotomy between “Good” and “Evil”, “Angelic” and “Demonic”, with no middle ground or space outside of it. A worldview that fundamentally misunderstands Crowley’s entire life, moral compass and identity.

Aziraphale does love Crowley, but he still hasn’t reckoned with Heaven’s brainwashing. He still won’t ever be able to understand Crowley’s perspective until he gets the outcome he thought would fix everything, and realises that it won’t.

[fairuzfan]

For Liefer to pull up a Camus quote like this is quite laughable because of how the dynamics mirror each other. In the modern day, we have a status quo where Palestinians continue to be imprisoned and murdered and raped and segregated, denied basic medical care for years on end, all on their own land — while Jewish Israelis (to make distinction from Palestinians with Israeli citizenship, as many liberal zionists love to point out) suffer no consequences for anything, even if they play a direct role in the continued erasure and genocide of Palestinians. So if given a choice between suffering no consequences while benefiting from the status quo (that will not change unless the oppressed take it upon themselves to change their circumstance) and suffering consequences in the form of direct personal loss (with the strategy of forcing things to change by ennacting the same type of violence that the occupied experience on a daily basis onto the occupiers), of course someone who stands to lose nothing from the continuation of the status quo would rather the status quo continue if he has something to lose otherwise. Camus, when he said this quote, was not being righteous or overly sensitive. If anything, it shows how little he understood at the time of saying this quote. Because he didn't understand that an Algerian will suffer in both scenarios even if he (Camus) is safe, and for him to say something like this when people lived generations worth of violence for his and his family's (social) benefit is annoying and just plain offensive. Who is he, as a Frenchman born in occupied Algeria, to say what is worth justice when he only stands to lose anything in one scenario but not the other? He did not experience life as an Algerian native in French occupation. He might have observed it, growing up poor, yes, but he never LIVED it. Liefer might have observed the horror of settler colonialism, but that's nothing like experiencing it firsthand. To be the object of hatred to people who have higher status and more rights than you. It's just not his place as a person with nothing to lose if the status quo continues to comment on anything like this. What's the underlying meaning of this quote? "I'd rather others continue to suffer than myself experiencing suffering once."

I'm not saying Liefer doesn't have a right to mourn whoever. Im not even saying he has a duty to accept the consequences he experiences. But to say something so heartless as "I prefer the safety of my own rather than justice" within the larger, nearly century worth of context, is just insensitive and really belies his true opinions of the liberation of Palestine if he's so comfortable saying this outloud with moral authority in the middle of what is an outright bloodbath of Palestinians across Palestine. It's the timing of saying something like this because to say it now of all times when the entire world ignores or even encourages the violence in Gaza but mourns the death of Israelis? An Algerian born Frenchman and Israeli are going to be mourned on an international scale... but Palestinian and Algerian natives? Their deaths are regarded as facts of life by the rest of the world.

This makes it seem like I hate Camus, but I honestly don't, but I think the way Leifer is holding this quote up at face value and as the height of reason really is annoying. People like to mention Camus' "if" in this case as proof that he's actually saying "this is not real justice so therefore I do not have to accept it," but who is he to say what is or is not justice? The point I'm getting at is the people who benefit from occupation, in this case, Camus and Liefer have no right to determine what is or is not justice, despite their personal beliefs. The occupier has no right to tell the occupied what they should do to get freed. That alone is an arrogance in assertion that is so offending — the assertion that the occupier knows how to free the occupied in what *he* considers justice and the occupied just need to do whatever the occupier tells them to do. Because whether they both like it or not, they still benefit from and are part of the occupying force, and therefore have no real reason to fight the occupation at their own expense — the occupation is a violence that they are alright with inflicting if it means they cannot lose anything or anyone.

Also the idea that liefer indirectly compares himself to Camus is a little funny to me.

[brucewaynehater101]

Adding on to my previous ask, what do you think the others reaction to finding out about why Tim cut his hair and/or what it meant to him?

I feel like dick would feel so sad for ti and what he lost

Jason would feel even more regretful about the tower for the hair

Damian and Bruce I'm not sure

Cass would try to convince to grow his hair back again

(he never grew it out cause he didn't feel safe enough to do so)

Sorry if it's incomprehensible, I wrote with my face half squished into my pillow cause I had to get the thought out before I could fall asleep

For anyone wanting to read the OG post, here

Tim, in this AU, usually kept his hair up. Therefore, it's not a stretch to say he didn't tell the others how vital his hair was to his self-worth, connection to his parents, or reassurance that he's loved. Perhaps, in their ignorance, they even made comments on how Tim keeps his hair so long or seems to spend longer getting ready. It was meant as light-hearted teasing because they didn't know just how important his hair is to him.

The reveal for this AU depends on how much drama, tension, and angst you want.

Does it happen immediately after? If so, it might take awhile for Jason or Damian to care (just cause they don't like Tim at this point). There might be a wee bit of "damn" in their minds, but they have the realization much latter of how fucked up it was.

Does it happen after Tim has already forgiven Jason? Jason may not realize it's something he needs to apologize for and goes through the angst of thinking they aren't doing as good as he thought. Tim doesn't blame Jason because Tim made the choice to cut his hair. He was upset, which he's over by this point, but he never blamed Jason. However, Jason now blames himself and will need to work to forgive himself.

Now. How do the Bats respond/feel about this reveal?

As far as Dick and Damian, have you read the fic "Mama Bird (but its your big brother ready to fight god)" by Yellow_sprouts? The fic is by a Tumblr account I adore on here @batfambrainrotbeloved. Anyways, I love their concepts for chapter 4 here. It examines how Dick and Damian, due to their cultures and upbringing, see hair as something to cherish and spend time taking care of.

While in this hc/au I didn't tie Tim's feelings about his hair to cultural/spiritual beliefs, feel free to hc that. On the other hand, I feel like Damian and Dick might understand more or differently due to their own cultural thoughts about hair. Even if Tim's treatment and care of his hair isn't related to cultural beliefs, they might still understand just how important it is (especially if they grew up with their own loved ones [Mary and John Grayson and Talia] washing their hair, taking time to teach them about different products/treatment, and making the entire process a bonding/loving moment). It would be a huge deal if, after Damian and Tim start getting along, Damian offers to help Tim with his hair (which has grown quite a bit by this time).

Jason can also be tied into the cultural understanding if you'd like, or he could just process it as taking another thing from Tim he didn't realize was precious. If Jason also comes from a culture that cherishes hair, lots of angst to be explored there (maybe his feelings about commiting such a taboo but originally justifying it because hair probably doesn't mean the same thing to Tim). Jason having cultural or spiritual ties to hair could also fuck with his mental state and that white stripe. How can he do his self-care routines to the reminder of all that he's suffered through?

Cass has known from the beginning how much Tim's hair means to him. For timeline sake, let's say she appeared to the Bats after TT (otherwise, she would have hunted Jason down to beat his ass up). The two of them from the start use hair as a way to bond.

David Cain probably never taught Cass to value herself in that way. It's nice for Tim and Cass because no words are needed. They can feel the love and comfort through the actions and soft touches. Cass is taught to value herself, that even something like her hair is worthy of time and dedication. She is human, even down to her hair follicles.

This act has nothing to do with her abilities. While she should feel pride and accomplishment for the strength it took to utilize abilities given to her through pain/abuse into something for herself, this activity is about Cass being herself. Tim cares about her and wants to show her that no matter what she can and can't do. Cass is gone often like Tim's parents, but this moment of hair care is a constant reassurance of theirs.

Steph and Babs find out later. Maybe they are told about it by Cass sooner than the big reveal, but they don't tie it to what happened at TT. They also don't want to intrude on the intimate familial bonding of Tim and Cass during this moment, so they never try to invite themselves to it. After the reveal, Barbara invites Tim, Cass, and Steph over for a self-care day. It's not necessarily about hair (so as to not pressure Tim to share), but Tim appreciates the gesture.

Bruce depends on if he's a good dad or not in this.

For good dad Bruce, he is the definition of "doesn't really understand but trying." He stalks the Drakes' old finance records to find out what products they used to keep some in stock at the Manor. He does a ton of research on hair care and cultures (and ends up learning about how it might be important to Dick and Damian). He may be a bit overbearing and cross boundaries (by inserting himself into Tim's routine), but he is trying. After Tim tells him to back off, he does.

For Bad Dad Bruce, he's an asshole about it. Maybe he makes some comment about how Tim shouldn't keep his hair long anyways since it's a liability >:(

Tim probably can't get himself to allow it to grow long again until Bruce gets lost in the timestream. By virtue of simply not having enough time to cut it properly, it grows out. He almost cuts it off before he returns to Gotham, but he remembers how happy Cass was for him that it was long again.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Erin/Julius; cosmic vertigo

For the prompt: More Erin and Julius understanding each other on a deep level

“Have you ever thought about the universe?” Julius says.

“I get a headache whenever I do, so I mostly try to avoid it,” Erin says, then, feeling Julius’ eyes on her, “Yeah, I guess. You’ve got to narrow it down a little from ‘literally everything in existence’ for me to figure out what you're getting at, though.”

“How things — change, I guess,” Julius says. “How if something went just a little differently, your life could be completely different too.”

“So like alternate universes,” Erin says, relieved. That’s much less likely to give her a headache. Not unlikely, but thinking about what, exactly, exists past forever? What a constantly expanding universe is expanding into? The last time Erin let herself think about it too long she ended up with a migraine. Possibly a coincidence, but she’s not risking it. That thing lasted two days.

“Yes,” Julius says. “If I was drafted one pick higher, or lower, I would never have come to Edmonton.”

“And you wouldn’t have met Jared, and therefore me, and neither of us would be lying in this bed right now talking about the universe,” Erin says. “Something like that?”

“Something like that,” Julius echoes, then gazes at her for a long moment, not speaking.

“Stop measuring how good a consolation prize I am,” Erin says. Doesn’t matter how great he thinks she is: nobody’s great enough to make up for the pain and suffering of playing for the Edmonton Oilers.

Julius’ mouth quirks, like she’s said it out loud.

“You’re alright,” he says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “I do my best.”

“Worth coming here,” Julius says.

“Let’s not get too crazy here,” Erin says.

Under the covers, Julius finds where she’s laced her hands on her stomach and prises the nearest away so he can lace his own fingers through it, that hand thief. She likes to sleep like she’s in a coffin and he knows that. Still, she supposes she can lend it to him for a little while.

“Feeling philosophical tonight, are we?” Erin asks.

She doesn’t have to ask why: he’s going back to Finland in two days. Only for a month, before he flies back to Alberta to train with Jared and his buds in Calgary. She doesn’t have to ask why for that either. Dude isn’t going to train in a city he’s never even lived in, a city that hates his guts, just because he misses her brother, though she’s sure Jared would argue otherwise. She won’t make him say it.

“I can come,” Erin says. “If you want me to. I can come.”

Julius blows out a breath. “Next time,” he says.

“Sure,” Erin says. “It’s not — it doesn’t expire or anything. Standing offer. I mean, unless I have something else going on. Then you’re shit out of luck.”

“I will make sure your schedule is clear,” Julius says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “Thoughtful of you.”

“Would you like your hand back?” Julius says. Erin doesn’t think she’s imagining the reluctance. A month’s not really a long time if the universe is your scale, but if it isn’t, well. It’s long enough.

“That’s okay,” Erin says. “You can have it a bit longer.”

*

So the thing is, when Erin told Julius she’d go to Finland with him, well — it isn’t that she didn’t mean it, because she did, it’s just that she sort of figured that at some point between her saying that and him taking her up on it, she might just spontaneously get past her fear of flying.

Except, fear is such a strong word, isn’t it? She’s fine. She’s been on planes without dying. She even hopped on a plane to see the Canucks host the Oilers — would someone with a lifelong fear of planes do that?

And yeah, sure, it was only ninety minutes, and by the time she quit telling herself that they probably weren't all going to die — but if they did, they better not fuck up and identify her as Bryce’s girlfriend in all the death announcements — they’d pretty much already begun the descent.

Then, once she was done a new recital of how they probably weren't to die — at least they’d better not, because Bryce would feel so guilty about inviting her — they were taxiing to the gate.

And while, like, statistically, that was one of the most dangerous times, like how parking lots and the kilometre around your house are the places you’re most likely to get into an accident, it’s hard to work up the same panic when you’re like, twenty feet in the air instead of twenty thousand.

The flight back wasn’t too bad either, and by the end of the trip, she thought she might have even gotten over that whole fear of flying thing.

She was incorrect.

The thing is, she actually did okay on the flight to Toronto. It helped that it was first thing in the morning, and apparently sleepiness beats out panic, a fact she’s going to be taking advantage of in the future. She genuinely thought she'd reached the other side of it, but the flight to Amsterdam has quickly proven her wrong.

Planes aren’t supposed to shake. And dip! She swears they started to drop out of the sky at one point. Julius said that it was a normal amount of turbulence, but frankly, no turbulence is normal, is it? Sure, it can be a typical amount of turbulence, but normal? They’re in a metal tube in the sky, being thrown around by wind. Erin does not consider any of that to be normal.

“You didn’t tell me you don’t like flying,” Julius says, so quietly Erin can hardly hear him over the almost deafening plane sound nobody else seems to be bothered by. Erin thinks that’s pretty big of him, considering she’s had his hand in a death grip since the turbulence began, and she hasn’t relinquished it even now that it’s finally stopped. In his shoes, she’d probably be going with ‘you know these hands make millions, right?’.

Money that means she’s flying in comfort, if not…comfort. For some reason, Erin thought it’d be easier to deal with things in business class. She doesn’t know why — in a plane crash, the front of the plane is the least likely to survive. But hey, at least Erin got free champagne.

The champagne didn’t help. She hadn’t really thought it would, but she’d been hoping.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d say I don’t like it,” Erin says. It comes out in a voice she's never heard in her entire life, so perky it’s almost shrill.

“Something stronger?” Julius asks, looking about as disturbed by Stepford Erin as she is. She doesn’t know if he’s talking about the word she’d use or the next drink she should have, but either way the answer's probably yes.

“Do you want your hand back?” Erin asks. It’s not so much an offer as a genuine question, because she’s not sure her hand will unclench for long enough to release it, and she’d probably grab it again the next time the plane started rocking, though maybe she can figure something else out. Grab his thigh or something. It also makes him millions, but it can probably hold up to the abuse a little better.

“You can have it the entire flight if you need,” Julius says. “And for the others.”

Erin’s really, really been trying not to think about the fact there are more flights after this one. Plural.

“Might make it hard to eat,” Erin says. He has the window seat — no fucking way she wants to see just how high up they are, even though she already intellectually knows it — and she’s had custody of his right hand since take off.

“I can figure it out,” Julius says, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. It isn’t quite relaxing — nothing is, right now, not with that damn plane noise — but it’s, you know, not not relaxing, which makes it better than pretty much everything in the world at the moment. It makes Erin’s eyes prickle.

“I know it’s irrational,” Erin says. “I’m well aware of all the statistics, and that it’s safer than basically every kind of transportation. I know. It’s ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous.”

“We can drive,” Julius says. “When we get to Helsinki. We can drive instead. Or take the train.”

Erin tips her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling. That still leaves Amsterdam to Helsinki, but one flight is better than two. “How long a drive is it?” Erin says.

“Does it matter?” Julius asks.

Erin shakes her head, and when they fall, she swipes at them with her free hand.

“We can drive,” Julius says, thumb tracing back and forth, and Erin focuses on it, the slow sweep of his skin against hers, until the flight attendant comes, asking if they’d like something to drink.

“Champagne,” Erin says. “Please.”

“Two,” Julius says, even though he didn’t even finish his first. “Please.”

“What are we celebrating?” the flight attendant chirps, and Erin stares up at her, unable to muster even a weak smile. Beside her, Julius must be pulling out the ‘dumb fucking question’ face he gives reporters, because the flight attendant says, bright and fake as Stepford Erin, “Two glasses of champagne,” then hurries on to the next seats.

“People,” Julius murmurs, and Erin slides down, twisting in her seat until she can put her head on his shoulder. Probably makes it harder than she needs to, since she refuses to give up Julius’ hand the entire time, but he doesn’t complain, just keeps up the slow sweep of his thumb, and when she finally makes herself comfortable — or, as comfortable as she can, considering the circumstances — he kisses her hair.

“Sorry about stealing your hand,” Erin says. She really hopes he doesn’t think it’s an offer to give it back, because he’ll be disappointed.

“That’s okay,” Julius says. “I don’t need it for my job or anything.”

Erin decides to hold on a little tighter, just for that.

[nebulaafterdark]

More Than Anyone (Part 7)

Warnings: 18+ smut, targcest, lactation, childbirth

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Y/N’s term is complete, her body aches. Though she rarely complains, perhaps she knows it will do no good. Or perhaps she had bore enough children that she is used to pain.

Aegon is not sure which. Dutifully he climbs into their bed each night, to hold her and soothe her tense muscles after a bath. Pressing the lightest of kisses to her skin. “After this babe we need no more heirs.” He kisses her temple reverently. Aegon does not wish her to suffer. “You have performed your duty. The crown is satisfied. I am satisfied.”

“What happened to ‘as many as you’ll give me?” Y/N jests. That’s the number of children he’d once asked her for.

The prince smiles, “I watched you bring our son into this world…I would not wish that pain on my enemy, least of all my dearest love.”

“But it’s worth it, wouldn’t you say?” Y/N grunts as she turns to face him.

“Our children are very dear to me.” You are also dear to me.

“Mayhaps this conversation should be tabled for a day when there is not a child pressing against my organs. I might be able to think a bit more clearly.”

“You know, my sweetheart,” Aegon begins chasing another train of thought. “The Maester once told me that babes can be coaxed out the same way they’re coaxed in.”

“Oh?” Y/N smirks, passing a hand over her swollen belly.

“Let me see here.” Aegon leans forward, giving sweet kisses to her bump. Then helping to work her nightgown and small clothes to the floor.

“Aegon,” she flushes, not used to his eyes on her in this state.

“You are beautiful,” he murmurs. “So pretty, so…full. Wonder how you’ll fair with my cock in you.”

Y/N whines, as he cups her breasts, thumbing her nipples to peaks before suckling at the left. The princess is so sensitive that she nearly bursts into tears. The soft pressure of Aegon’s lips finally draws the first signs of milk from within her. “Aegon.”

“You were brought into this world to be mine.” He murmurs, lapping at the droplets. “All the nights I lied awake, to drown myself in cups and wonder, ‘why me?’ I see it all so clearly now. I had to be born who I am and you had to be born who you are, so that our paths might cross. There is nothing we could do about it, our fate was written in the stars. This body longs for me as mine longs for you. All these years wasted fucking whores, to find relief from the aching hole in my heart, when it was you. My sweet girl.”

Y/N inhales sharply, as he latches on to the opposite breast. “I love you dearly, Aegon. So much so that my heart aches with it.”

He hums against her. To be loved, he had so often longed to be loved. His wife was born of love and therefore will never know half his demons. Though when he shared them, she took half their weight.

The Princess faces a different set of battles, to prove herself, to accept what is afforded her, acquired through fire and blood.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs, his cock sliding easily into her warmth as she lies propped up against the pillows.

Her grin is lazy, spread across her lips like the cat who ate the canary. In this moment, she is every bit the spoiled little thing some thought her to be.

Her husband shifts his weight back on his ankles, fucking into her hard enough to make Y/N gasp. “Just there?” Aegon cocks his head to the side.

Y/N nods as he ruts against that spot within her. Fingers fumbling around in search of his hand. So much of her pleasure and her pain is held in his palms, where she finds comfort and strength in times of need.

Aegon twines their fingers together, feeling Y/N squeeze in time with her cunt. Full breasts bouncing wildly with each thrust. “To think this is what you’ve hidden from me all these years.” He clicks his tongue at her, never were his eyes allowed the privilege of her beauty great with his child.

“I still wish to hide,” she admits.

Aegon chuckles, draping the top sheet across her middle with his free hand. Watching with the softest of gazes as his sweet girl situates the material over her breasts, taking it down nearly to the place where they are joined. His strokes are slow and deep, lulling his wife to a gentle peak.

Y/N lets out a tiny sob as his hips snap against hers in quick succession. Throwing her headlong into a second orgasm, which soaks both of their thighs in her slick.

“Good girl,” Aegon praises, thumbing at her twitching bundle of nerves.

“Aegon,” she warns, catching his wrist.

“Once more,” he murmurs, close to the precipice himself.

“I can’t,” the pretty little thing hiccups beneath him.

Aegon only hushes her, “you can, sweetheart.”

“It hurts.” Too much of a good thing always does.

“Shhh,” he soothes, circling the swollen nub softly.

Tears well up in her eyes as she finds Aegon’s gaze.

“I’ve got you,” he coos.

The princess feels another climax building low in her belly. Breath leaving her in short puffs. “I-”

“I know,” Aegon groans, feeling her inner walls flutter around his cock. He draws pleasure from her cruelly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Y/N wails, succumbing to him once more. Denied the ability to come down by his deft fingers, nudging back the hood of her pearl. “No more.” She pleads, bottom lip quivering. “Please, Aegon, please!”

The sound of her desperate pleas hurtle Aegon to his peak, cursing as thick ropes of cum fill her twitching cunt. Sore and twinging from exquisite torture.

He pulls out after a moment, collapsing beside her and brushing sweat damp hair from her face. Soft kisses as Y/N catches her breath, drying any trace of tears.

“That was an awful thing to do.” She chastises, no fire behind her words.

“Forgive me, my dearest love.” Aegon repents, helping to situate his wife on her side, a soft pillow cushioning her belly.

Y/N sighs, his arms coming round to stroke the babe in her womb.

“I will kiss it better, if you wish.” He taunts, earning a slap to his forearm.

“Don’t you even dream of it,” she nuzzles farther against him, despite her protest.

“Will you have your maids attend the birth this time?” The last time it was only the two of them. It was peaceful.

“If I ask for you and only you, will you be terribly upset?”

Aegon shakes his head. He would not be upset, “it would be my great honor.” To deliver another of their children…especially if this is to be their last.

Y/N let’s out a yawn, “that is what I want.”

————————————————————————

The morrrow comes too soon, forcing Y/N from the warmth of her bed to tend her duties. A council meeting, as heir, the princess cannot miss it.

She listens carefully, seated at the long table. Rhaenyra was born to be queen. Y/N hopes to make her proud.

As the minutes drag on, Jacaerys can’t help but notice his sister shifting uncomfortably in her chair. He inches closer, “sister? Is everything alright?”

To his surprise, she seizes his hand, squeezing tightly for a moment before exhaling harshly and coming back to herself. “I am well.” Y/N forces a smile as she releases his fingers.

He gawks at her while the blood returns to his hand. “Your labors.”

The princess quiets him. “Not now.”

“Are you mad?” Jace hisses, “this is not something you can postpone.”

“Mmm.” She hums out, low in her throat. Earning Daemon’s attention and then her mother��s.

“Is something the matter?” The Queen demands, they know better than to behave this way without cause.

“No. Forgive me, your grace.” Y/N chokes out, through a contraction.

“Yes,” Jace rats her out, “her labors have started.”

“Well,” Rhaenyra offers her daughter a kind smile. “You are excused, Princess.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Jacaerys nods, helping his sister to her feet.

“Ah,” she clutches at her lower belly as she stands.

Jace tosses her arm over his shoulder for support.

“Can’t believe you told her.” Y/N scowls, shuffling from the council room into the hall.

“Did you think I’d let you give birth during a small council meeting?”

“I could’ve made it.”

“Liar.”

“Fuck,” Y/N curses, forcing her legs to continue toward her chambers.

“How painful is it? If you had to say?” Jace wonders, soon his wife will be birthing their babe. He is doing his best to prepare.

“It is the worst pain I have ever known,” Y/N pants out. “Yet I would do it a hundred times more.”

He takes comfort in this. That it would be worth it; for her, for Baela. “Perhaps I could deliver my babe. Do you think Baela might like that?”

“I do not know, Jacaerys.” She bites out. “You are a kind man, a good husband, you will be a wonderful father.” Breathe, breathe. “But it is hard to speak at a time like this.”

“I apologize. Let us get you to Aegon.” The Prince sighs, hobbling down the corridor. Of course there’s the stairs, his poor sister…

“I can’t,” Y/N sobs out. This child is coming, she will not make it to the top. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Y/N, tell me now, what can I do?” Jace helps her down, kneeling beside her on the bottom step.

“Send for Aegon, please hurry.”

“Surely you mustn’t be alone.”

“It’s just up the stairs, down the hall. I will be alright.” Y/N assures him.

“Very well,” he gives her shoulder a squeeze, making to stand. Dashing toward their chambers, Jace finds Aegon within. Newly clothed, unhurried.

“What is it?” Aegon frowns at the intrusion.

“Y/N is having the babe.” Jace pants out, having sprinted. “At the bottom of the staircase. Now.”

“Now?” Aegon all but shouts, rushing past his nephew, down the hallway and taking the steps two at a time. He finds his wife hunched forward, with her hands resting on her thighs, still fully clothed. “Sweetheart.”

“Help me,” Y/N pleads, shoving his arm up beneath her skirts.

“I’ve got you.” He murmurs, feeling the child has already begun crowning.

Y/N whimpers, this part never gets any easier.

“That’s it, sweet girl. We’ll have this babe in no time.”

Jacaerys is a few steps away, facing outward. Ensuring their safety and privacy in this moment.

“Oww, FUCK!”

“Breathe,” Aegon reminds her, their child’s head in his hand.

Her thighs tremble, aching from holding up her weight. Aegon peppers gentle kisses to the side of her face.

“I love you, more than you will ever know. And I am forever grateful for the family you have given me.” Aegon murmurs, as his wife bears down, the shoulders are tricky. “Our family.”

A few more moments of agony and the baby is in Aegon’s arms. Announcing their arrival with a loud wail.

“Thank the gods.” Jacaerys breathes, still facing away.

“Another boy, my darling.” Aegon informs Y/N, as she slumps down in relief.

“His hair-”

“I have been waiting, hoping even.” Aegon admits. “For a child with your features, perhaps you heard me in there, hmm?” He cooes at his son.

“Aegon,” Y/N smiles.

“Hmm?”

“His name,” she explains. “I wish to name him Aegon…after you. My dearest love.”

“Are you certain?” Tears prickle at the back of his eyes.

Y/N knows he can deny her nothing. “I have never been more certain.”

Series Taglist: @sophiexoxosblog @alicentswife @f4ll-for-you @tempt-ress @percyjacksonspeen @zoleea-exultant @midnightrqin @buckystevelove @httpjiikook @neenieweenie @springholland @zeennnnnnn @yelenabeleovapocket @nejiho3 @thatkindofgurl @aemondsb1tch @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @kiahpapaya @existential-echo @zzz000eee @janelongxox @bunny24sstuff @alitaar @minttea07 @rwdkarla @bibli0thecary @loxbbg

[shini--chan]

Yandere Character Sheet II - 1p England / Arthur Kirkland

My depiction of Arthur here is harsh. I'll freely admit that it is due to a bias I have against the British due growing up in one of the Empire's late colonies and family history. Blazes, some of my relatives refuse to speak English because they regard it as "the language of the Antichrist".

Trigger warnings: colonialism, controlling behaviour, manipulation, mental break, trauma, physical torture, emotional/verbal abuse, victim blaming

Blend in - Are the red flags obvious? Are they even aware that their behaviour is wrong? Do they even care? 

Arthur is generally a cantankerous, cynical and proud man, so it would be more difficult to tell which of his actions are relationship red flags as opposed to personality red flags. Of course, this is also a gross oversimplification of the situation since he is complicated. When he wants to be, he can be genuinely kind, polite and caring. It is simply that the closer you are to him emotionally, the higher his expectations are of you. With you being the apple of his eye, you'd have the honour of finding out that being the subject of his affections is worse than having to bear his apathy or even ire. 

One of the reasons for this is that he'd have a fixed ideal of what constitutes as good and proper, and he would require you to conform to that image. Depending on your character and disposition, this could be painful for you. But surely you'll embrace your cruel fate, for isn't love the sweetest form of suffering. Pragmatic and cynical as he would be and would claim to be, Arthur would still be a romantic at heart. To him, meeting you would be fate, and you would do well to likewise recognise that your fate lies with him. Generally he wouldn't accept any words or actions that would go against this perceived destiny - he wouldn't take them seriously. 

Overall, he would see you as lesser than him, and therefore not as deserving of respect and regard. Much of the politeness and charm he would display to you wouldn't stem from seeing you as an equal or from thinking highly of your thoughts and emotions, but rather from the sort of charity given to the invalid and the naive. 

This flows nicely into the next red flag, in that he can be unbelievably paternalistic and conceited. You acting out, trying to defend your boundaries, or even just not fitting into what he deems appropriate would be deemed as you being unreasonable or having a phase. All in all, it would be very difficult to criticise him since he would first have to view you as a person worth listening to, and that wouldn't be a given. Even if your relationship has reached that level of respect, he would be quick to deliver some sharp retorts. Also, he would simply not care that some of the things he does are reprehensible. Either the end would justify the means, or the other people are inferior and conventional morals can't be applied to them. 

Additionally, he would be prone to making decisions for you, without your input. Mind you, he would allow you to place your orders by yourself when you go out to wine and dine. Though, he would decide what you wear, when you go to sleep, what you eat and drink at home, and the media you consume. This would start way before he would manage to fully isolate/kidnap you. Arthur regards himself as more apt when it comes to making choices about your life than you are. 

Related to that above, he would manage to make you go along with all that (at least in the beginning) by acclimating you to his controlling nature. He wouldn't dominate your life all at once and the more he'd enter your life, the more he'd determine how you'd live your own life. He'd demand that you tell him of all your movements and errands, make you let him look through your letters and bills and have you give him the passwords to all your accounts. On top of that, he would micromanage you at times. 

Another warning sign would be how unpredictable he would be. When it comes to social interactions, what happens is very dependent on Arthur's. He is far from emotionless, and is very passionate indeed. However, he isn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve or display his emotions openly, which would make it difficult to assess the situation at times. A bad time on the way home from work can decide if you receive affection or are pushed away with sharp remarks. Additionally, it would be the little things that would set him off the most, while he would remain stoic and calm in the face of large calamities.

Compatriot - Who aids them? Who condemns them? Are there ways you can convince their friends/colleges/underlings to help you? 

Part of Arthur's magic is convincing others of his superiority. There would be many that would aid him simply because they'd falsely believe he is all-powerful and that moving against him is futile. These sorts would be the worst - you'd have their sympathy and pity and they would likely believe you fully if you'd recount the lived horror and they'd still resolutely refuse to help you. On the contrary, they would even encourage you to give in to him, to simply weather the storm instead of fighting against it. These people would also be the hardest to persuade and the fastest to betray you, since they would fully buy into the illusion of Arthur's invulnerability and seek to gain small favours from their "Lord and Saviour". 

Then there would be those that would be on his side because they'd agree with his world views and morality. Best not to bank on their support, because Arthur would always be grander in their minds than you. Unless … there is nothing more feverant than a disillusioned devotee, eh? There, you could get their support, you would just have to teach them successfully that their angel is a demon. 

Naturally, England would also have many enemies. So some of them, all that would matter would be to land a blow on Arthur, so they would have no qualms or second thoughts of helping you. They might even "be on your side" before you'd catch on to Kirkland's true colours. Perhaps they would even be the ones to shine light on his less appealing traits. One thing that you should keep in mind though, that they wouldn't care about what would happen to you, as long as they could hurt Arthur. 

Aside from the obvious category of people that hate Arthur and who would also be sympathetic to your cause, there would also be the normal people that just want to go about their day-to-day lives. Those that might work for Arthur; they might trip you up if they like him, they might ignore your forged documents and stolen money if they hate him. Generally, many people downplay the power and the influence of the ordinary, working man. Arthur would be no exception to this rule, and could use this against him. 

Dominion - What actions are especially pleasing to them?

Above all else - you defer to him. He wants to be your guiding light in the darkness. He is supposed to be your teacher and protector and provider, and he wouldn't settle for anything less. For you to recognise and accept your role in the dynamic between the two of you would be a boon. It would be a relief that he wouldn't have to chastise and punish you like a wayward child. It would give him a bit of hope.

Interestingly enough, he would still desire for you to be resolute. Silk hiding steel comes to mind and if you're the sort to faint at the slightest sign of trouble, he would deem you a product of bad breeding. You are to be a rose, and your thorns should be sharp. Of course, this shouldn't come at his expense, for he doesn't want somebody that would constantly stand against him. You should be the sort that is a fun conquest, and a steadfast companion that doesn't cause more trouble than you solve. The deep irony here is that he wishes that you aren't a child, all while being continuously paternalistic. 

Appeal to his finer sensibilities - have etiquette down pat, be educated in that you know the classics and poetry and the BBC nature documentaries. Be easy on the eye and balm for the soul to him, make him feel respected and allow him to rant about god and the world without always throwing in your two cents. Be attentive to his needs, whether it be a shoulder massage, a bottle of port or tickets for the nearest rugby match. Communication without many words necessary would be prefered. On your side, such a skill would even be needed if you want to survive him. 

Tied into that - he would want the little things taken care of by you. Have a meal ready when he comes home, and the bathroom scrubbed and the washing done. Still he would require the dichotomy of a homebody and an adventurer, at least to some extent (and you thought he was going to leave you alone at home). Everywhere though, you'd be expected to put his well being above your own. After all, if he is out cold, then who will take care of you. No matter how strong and capable you are, he will forever regard himself as your superior. 

Conform to the values of the time. If there is something that irks Arthur beyond measure, it would be not understanding something. He wouldn't understand you if your mind runs on models of the world he is not familiar with. Of course, if you don't see things his way yet then it is no issue - diamonds commonly need polishing and cutting before they are perfect. It would be a re-edition of the white man's burden. 

Flight - What do you have to do in order to escape them?

It would be easier than you'd expect. Arthur's main spiel to make you stay by him would be to make you think that escape is futile, and that he is all-powerful and all-knowing when it comes to you. He would aim at "demonstrating" this by stalking you or also letting you escape only to capture you again. This wouldn't be his only failsafe. Perhaps he'll socially isolate you, so that you believe he is the only person in the world that you can trust, or he'll convince you that you're a horrible person, and he is only doing on to you what you deserve (he might even believe the latter himself). So what you have to do, is break the mental fetters, and then matters already become easier. 

Two pathways are recommended: Either do something completely haywire that he wouldn't expect. Send yourself abroad per post, join a travelling circus troupe or become a nun. There are only so many avenues of escape that he can close down, and the most obvious would be the first to go. Or you could elect to hide in plain sight and slip away. Lose him in a shopping mall or in a crowded street. A concert would be even better. Afterwards, it would be advisable to act normal - because he would be looking for a harried person. 

And have some tranquillisers/sleeping pills at hand. You'll need them to cope with the fallout. 

Hospitality - What is your life like with them? How much does it deviate from your former life?

You'd basically have to adopt an Arthur-approved lifestyle and discard everything that came for. He would dictate the tempo and direction, with you having precious little say in the matter. You'd only have your way if your interests coincide with England's or you plant the ideas in his head and let him think it was his idea in the first place. 

You'd become another fixture in his environment and thus everything that is his would become yours as well. The living space would be his and he would share it with you. Whether you like it or not, you would start orienting yourself around his routines and ideas. A side effect of this would be that he would control what you would read, watch and listen to. When locked up and subject to his tender mercies, you would be powerless to obtain any information other than what he allows. 

Aside from that, there are too many restrictions and rules to count, and you would only be able to have some comfort once you learn to navigate the minefield. In total, your life would be more akin to life in an old girls boarding school, or even a prison. The food would be just as bland, unless you'd take matters into your own hands. 

With him, your opinion would matter very little and his would be everything. Every criticism of your person would have to be acted on immediately, and every wish treated as an order. Of course, he would detest it if you'd simply allow him to walk all over you, but he would equally loath it if you would stubbornly resist it. It would be a balancing act that you would have to learn to master.

 In the beginning you might be inclined to point out how his treatment of you would contradict his own morals. Arthur wouldn't care - this is a point that can't be stressed enough. Conventional morals wouldn't apply to you, in his eyes. Besides, you would be his plaything, something with which he can engage in all his base desires and dark urges without any repercussions. Somebody at his station would have to punish him for him to genuinely become better towards you. 

There are few holds barred for him when it comes to you, and that makes him all the more dangerous. Should the mood strike him due to your bad behaviour, then he would bring out the thumb screws and the brands and the water torture. He probably wouldn't want to mar you, or at least not too much. You should still be prepared for burns of all sorts and being twisted into various uncomfortable positions and restrained. Here, the menu would be a lengthy one. 

Of course, there would be the social aspect. One of the first things Arthur would do would be to chip away at your social circle. This could be either through slander and manipulation, or more criminal methods like framing, drugging and murder. Eitherway, soon he'll be the only one you'll have, and since he is a jealous man, you would either only be able to interact with a carefully curated group of people, or not at all. 

Order - What are the rules you have to adhere to?

There are too many rules to count when it comes to Arthur Kirkland. He wouldn't spell out all of them for you anyway, since a lot of them are self-evident in his eyes. Besides, he'd want you to live according to the spirit of the rules, rather than him having to lay out an exact wording only for you to engage in loophole abuse. Regardless, here are some of mentioned rules:

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. Mind you, this is only towards him - other people are fair game. Although, you'd have to be smart about it and avoid causing second hand embarrassment. This would be easier said than done when you're in company, since your actions would automatically reflect on Arthur, once a certain point in your relationship has been reached. If you'd curse and chew out the world with him, he would be delighted. If you would turn your insults on him, he would burn with rage at the insolence and the impertinence. How dare you undermine his authority! Verbal sparring would be occasionally welcomed, though you'd have to have the sensitivity to tell when the ice is too thin to stand on. 

Behave yourself when we are in mixed company. Even when we are in company in general. To him, you are a pet project, living evidence that he can fashion perfection out of flesh and bone and a willful spirit. Totting you out to other people would come with the expectation that you be a living exhibit of his talents. As such, he wouldn't take it well if you misbehave. Mind you, he wouldn't be above humiliating you in mixed company just to save his own reputation. 

Keep up with the etiquette, will you? Belonging to him would mean you'd have to comply with a whole host of rules and rituals and mannerisms. This can vary depending on his social standing and the time period. The main point would be that you wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. The irony here is that he would desire you to have the skills and aptitude to get along well with your peers all while wanting you all to himself.

Don't make me repeat myself, pet. There are some phrases Arthur would repeat around you over and over again, like an especially devout priest. He would want you to internalise some truths after all. On the flip side, he would loathe to have to repeat himself when he talks with you, or to have to lay out his instructions a second time. Should he be peeved, and then be forced to repeat himself just because you weren't paying attention, then you would have a punishment awaiting you. Above all, don't talk back when he orders or chastises you - he wouldn't hold back with the yelling and the insults and the condensation if you do. 

 Be honest with me, savvy? I can't smell what you are thinking, after all. For somebody as cunning and devious as Arthur Kirkland, he gets extraordinarily upset when he is given a taste of his own medicine. He would demand you be forthright and honest with him, something that would be very difficult if you don't want to be with him and don't want to anger him at the same time. The reason behind this would be that he would want to trust you, and he wouldn't be able to trust you if he'd have to cut through your lies and half truths and word games. Or if he would only receive your complaints from around five corners, or something of the sort. Asides, if you're the sort to voice your displeasure and be open about your thoughts and feelings (to him, it should be said) then he wouldn't be in for any nasty surprises. 

Rehabilitation - How much will they change you? Will they break you? How much therapy would you need in the event that you get rid of them? 

Arthur Kirkland is the sort of man that would leave scars. He'd want you to be unable to live without him and he'd strive to condition you to dissolve into hysterics should you be separated from him. In the case he should succeed, you'd be fine for a few days and then descend into such emotional turmoil. This would be because he'd have your behavioural structures tailored to him, and without him to act as your focal point, you would grow anxious. Be careful not to go crawling back to him then - each escape would be more mentally challenging then the one before. 

Even when you'd be away from him, his rules would be so ingrained in you that you'd follow them on a subconscious level. You'd find yourself fixing your posture all the time, and weighing each word up against gold before uttering it. Out of reflex you'd discreetly check your surroundings to see where Arthur is and no matter how much you'd police your thoughts, his cynical attitude towards other human beings would have rubbed off on you and infected your mental processes. Arthur would continue to accompany you as the devil on your shoulder, as the voice of your inner critic, as a demon that would haunt your dreams, even if he would no longer be physically present. You'd have to be self-aware and self-conscious to rid yourself of those fetters. 

Aside from that, he wouldn't hesitate to break you to achieve his goals. There would be regrets on his behalf, yes. However, he'd never regret breaking you to the point that he would strive to make amends and see the errors of his ways. Instead, he would blame you for being too rebellious, for having such a brittle character that you broke instead of bending to his will, for being of ill stock and bad breeding. Admitting wrongdoing would be akin to weakness for him, something he would never allow himself to display in front of you.

Perhaps you would retain enough sanity and energy even when broken to flee him, perhaps you would develop a secondary or even tertiary personality to deal with the trauma. Either way, a life without Arthur would be even more cumbersome and hard than when you'd have been whole. It would take years until you'd be able to function normally again, and that is only if the best case scenario of you having a stable life without Arthur hunting you, occurs. 

Zeal - Do they fall fast or slow? What is their reaction to their own feelings?

Ever the romantic at heart, passion would grip him quickly, yet he would be very slow to act on it. It wouldn't be the first case of limerence on his side, and he would want to be sure of his feelings and their longevity before committing to you. Ironically, the more he'd try to wrestle his emotions into control and bottle them, the more potent and out of control they would become. Finally, they would overwhelm him and he would find himself rationalising the most heinous actions. 

The same justifications he would use towards himself would be applied towards other people, maybe even towards you. As time passes, the self-justifications and such would come ever easier, and also more extreme. It would finally reach a point where morality would be flung out the window. Why should he heed boundaries, if there is no punishment for overstepping? Maybe you find some countermeasure within your power that you can exercise to keep him in line. Just don't harbour the illusion that it'll work forever. 

Art doesn't belong to me, nor does the character!

[deathbxnny]

So we basically know from the game lore that jingyuan, blade and dan heng are like, ancient asf so what about how they'd be with an s/o, crush, love interest whatever who's the reincarnation of their past lover? Like the s/o doesn't remember them or their past lives but is still friendly and nice just confused on why this guy is pining after them lol how'd they go about wining them over?

-----♡

A/N: Hello! Thank you so much for the beautiful request! I absolutely love this idea!<33

Content: Fluff, mutual pinning(kinda), reincarnation troupe, a tiny bit of angst, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not fully proofread!))

-----♡

》Jing Yuan

Is very upfront with his emotions, when courting you. He knows what you like and what to do to make you like him, so he'll definitely have you again in no time. With that said, he was delighted to see you again after so long. Ofcourse, he feels a pinch of sadness in his heart, yet quickly replaces it with the excitement of potentially making new memories with you in this lifetime again.

You're a little hesitant at first though, as you're a little baffled as to why such an important man like him was interested in you. But you still were intrigued by him and decided to give him a chance, which he knew you would. You were never able to resist his charms after all.

Will absolutely spoil you with everything he has. You can as much as glance at something and suddenly have it delivered to your door the next day by your dear General. He also takes you on luxurious outings, smiling in delight when he sees you smile and enjoy yourself.

He's just glad to spend time with you again and vows to protect you with his life once more, when you two finally get together.

-----♡

》Blade

He was honestly close to not approaching you, thinking he didn't deserve you anymore after what he had become. Yet he couldn't help himself, when you bumped into him and gave him the beautiful smile he missed more than anything in this world.

He'll be more slow with his approach, worried that he might intimidate or scare you off, if he's too fast or passionate. Will give you simple, yet meaningful gifts that he knows you'll like. It warms his heart to see you get so excited and happy about them too, even if they aren't anything special.

He takes you out on simple dates, always making sure you're okay with everything he does with you and that you'll have a great and fun time. Seeing you so calm and happy with him around heals a part of his broken soul. You always had that effect on him.

Is grateful to be your lover once more when the time comes and makes sure you know that. Spending time with you again is worth all the pain he suffered through and he'll value it for as long as it lasts.

-----♡

》Dan Heng

He was so surprised and even taken aback, when he saw you again. He was also hesitant to approach you, as you belonged to a past he wanted to forget. And yet, he couldn't stop his endless feelings returning for you. Therefore he decided to pursue you again and makes things right this time.

He takes his time with you, making sure you have feelings for him too, before he says anything about his. He always seeks you out during missions or breaks, always keeping you close one way or another.

He gifts you things he knew you would like, telling you that they reminded him of you. Watching your eyes light up and your face flush at his heartfelt words made it all so worth it.

Is so thankful, when you agree to be his lover once more. He holds you close, his heart thumping with excitement as he gives you a rare smile. He's glad, to have a chance at a better future with you now.

-----♡

A/N: Thank you again for this cute idea! I hope, it was okay!<3

[thegoldencontracts]

May I request Ace, Deuce, and Riddle taking care of a Ramshackle Prefect reader who’s come down with the flu or something? (I hope requesting multiple characters at once is okay…)

Of course, multiple characters is okay! Thank you so much for requesting!

Sick Days

You're sick. Lovely. But at least your fellow schoolmates are there to make this a bit less awful.

Notes: Sickfic, my beloved, small fics for each character, reader has no pronouns, reader's face isn't mentioned to turn red, no size/hair type giveaways, etc, please tell me if I've added a description that makes the reader difficult to relate to!

You woke up feeling like absolute garbage. You felt hot and cold at the same time, your head hurt, and you were so, so dizzy.

There was a paw on your face. Grim.

"Myah, human, took you long enough!" he said. "Class already started, but the Great Grim stayed behind just for you!"

It took a second for his words to register.

What? Class already started? You're late, this is gonna be terrible, you're late, and-

"You're burnin' up!" Grim said, which was probably true, now that you thought about it. You didn't really feel like addressing his concerns.

Instead, you gave your own very intelligent input.

"Ugh."

"You should probably stay home, human. Get better, so you can get back to serving the Great Grim faster."

Even when he was concerned, Grim just had to be- well, Grim, didn't he? Whatever. You just wanted to sleep. You'd call in absent later, or whatever.

You went to sleep. Tried to, at least. It was half tossing and turning, a quarter trying to get comfortable in your blankets, an immeasurable amount of time sneezing and sniffling - Grim managed to get you a tissue box with his paws at some point and maybe one percent actual resting.

After what, according to the clock was a few hours worth of suffering, you heard a knock on your bedroom.

"Who is it?"

Ace Trappola

"Vil Schoenheit, duh." You were not letting Ace diss you while you were sick. Not a chance.

"Don't come in."

"Jeez," Ace said, seeming pretty concerned. "You sound awful. I'm coming in."

So kind, Ace. So kind. Truly, that man deserved an award for his raw tact.

The door slammed open, and you could see Ace's smug grin fall for a moment before coming back up.

"You got sick?" He said, giving you a once-over.

Obviously you were sick! What kind of question was that?

"No, I'm actually better than I've ever been," you said. "That's why I didn't come to school. To celebrate my raw level of health."

"Whatever. Can't blame you for that, but you're still and idiot for those thick blankets. You're supposed to lower your body temperature when you're sick; even Deuce knows that."

You weren't going to stand for this slander of your mutual friend - no matter how much those two tried to deny their friendship.

"Take back what you said about-"

"And get some food in your system! I'm getting you some soup."

Before you could even say anything, Ace was gone.

Was he- concerned about you? Actually, yeah, that was probably it. Ace was just built like that.

After a while, he was back, with a bowl of soup and a wet towel in hand.

"Trey, uh, had some soup leftover," he said, pressing the towel to your forehead. Cold. So cold. You wanted it off. "And the towel'll help get your temperature down. Don't take it off."

For all you made fun of Ace, he was actually so street-smart it was scary sometimes, and that included being able to read your thoughts.

"I won't," you said, more like mumbled, because your throat was so sore you'd think someone shoved a bunch of needles down it.

"You sound awful," he said with a snicker. "You need water. I'll go get it for you."

You didn't even mind the fact that he was making fun of you right now, you were just thankful for that sweet, sweet water. Your throat was dryer than the Sahara - which, funnily enough, didn't actually mean anything, since the Sahara didn't exist in Twisted Wonderland and was therefore just gibberish.

Lo and behold, he came back, carrying a thermos filled with water.

"Drink some," he said, holding the bottle up to your lips.

That gave you pause. What was next, him feeding you the soup?

Still, you needed the water, so you drank it without thinking.

It felt so good. Finally, rain in the Sahara!

You didn't have much time to rejoice before Ace held up a spoon of soup to your mouth.

"Say ah," he said, evidently very amused.

"I'm not a little kid, I can feed myself."

Ace just looked at you, unimpressed.

"Your hands're shaking so hard I can see them through the blankets," he said. "You're an idiot if you think your hands can take that soup anywhere but all over your blankets."

He was mean, but he was right. Curse him.

You opened your mouth, and he fed you a spoonful. This was how it went until the bowl was gone.

"You can leave now," you said.

"Nah," Ace replied. "You clearly need help getting better."

He was staying, wasn't he? And there was nothing you could do to change that. Whatever, maybe being babied wouldn't be so bad.

Besides, this was his own way of showing he cared, and it was one you didn't entirely mind. It'd be rude to push him away.

"Fine, fine," you said.

"Good."

And so, with Ace's help, getting better wasn't so bad.

A week later, however, Ace himself got sick. He really should've seen that coming.

"Here, say 'ah'."

"D-Don't feed me, idiot! I'm not a baby, I can do it myself."

How the turns had tabled.

Deuce Spade

"It's me, Deuce."

That was a relief.

"Come in," you said. "It's not locked."

The door opened, and you could make out the blue hair and black mark of none other than Deuce, one of your two friends from Heartslabyul - No matter how much Ace tried to deny he cared.

"You look terrible, Prefect," he said, and you knew he didn't mean to insult you, but it still hurt.

"I know," you said. "What'd you come here for?"

"You didn't come to class, so I was worried," Deuce said. "Now I know why. Anything I can do to make you feel better?"

There was one thing you wanted, more than anything.

"Water," you croaked out. "Please."

Right now, you and water were star-crossed lovers. Maybe Deuce could change that.

"Right away."

Deuce scurried out of the room, and, after a few, agonizing seconds, came back with your beloved water.

"Do you need help drinking?" he asked.

For a second, you thought that question was offensive. You could get it yourself. Then. you tried to reach for the bottle, and realized that his question was a very good one.

"Yep," you said, because your trembling hand were not bringing that bottle up to your mouth. The task just seemed daunting.

He put the bottle up to your mouth, and you drank up. Finally, your throat was parched. Relief.

"Anything else you need?" Deuce asked.

Although you didn't feel particularly nauseous right now, you weren't going to risk it with a meal. Right now, you just wanted someone to accompany you through your misery.

"Just stay with me," you asked. "You don't have to, I mean, I know you probably have a bunch of things to do, but-"

"No," Deuce said. "I'll stay with you. You're my friend, a-and, I want to do anything I can to make you feel any better."

He looked away.

"S-Sorry, I know how stupid that sounds," he said. You were going to correct his inaccurate statement.

"Deuce."

"Y-Yeah?"

"I'm pretty sure that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me."

"Thanks." Deuce scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Anyways, do you wanna know what stuff in class we learned so it's easier for you to catch up?"

You smiled.

"I would love that."

Deuce made that sick day so much better. Somehow, he didn't even get sick. You honestly envied that good immune system. It was good that he didn't suffer for trying to help you, though.

Riddle Rosehearts

"Prefect, I was informed that you were absent from class today. Do you have an explanation?"

"I'm sick," you said, miffed. Riddle was actually great to be around, but god, you didn't have the patience for getting lectured right now.

Silence. More silence. Sheepish scurrying.

After a while, you hear another knock.

"Prefect, it's me," Riddle said. "I would like to apologize for my discourteous behavior prior."

The door opened, and there was Riddle, carrying a bunch of stuff.

"Aagh," was your highly intelligent greeting.

Riddle walked up to you, getting out a towel. He cast a water spell on it.

"You look quite disheveled," he said, putting the now wet towel on your forehead. "I really do feel terrible about the way I addressed you earlier. Trey had some soup leftover, would you like some?"

You nodded. You wanted something warm right now, especially with the cold cloth on your head.

"I'll get it for you, then."

From his bag, he took out a canteen, a spoon, and a napkin. He was really well-prepared, wasn't he? That really wasn't a shock. This was Riddle, after all, top student and ultimate over-preparer - actually, maybe Azul or Jamil took the latter role. Nothing could beat seeing Azul's backup-backup plans for the serious affair of buying cheese from Sam's.

Riddle handed you the soup, waving his magic-pen.

Your hand weren't trembling anymore. Weird.

"That was me," Riddle said, noticing your confusion. "The spell will temporarily let you eat in comfort."

"Thanks," you said, taking a sip of the soup. It tasted so good to your empty stomach. The nausea'd worn off some time ago, and now you were left with the burning feeling of hunger. You scarfed down that soup in no time, leaving Riddle with a concerned look.

"Are you not worried about vomiting?" he said.

You shook your head.

"I don't feel nauseous," you said. "Not now, at least."

That seemed to be a good enough answer for Riddle, who nodded.

"Is there anything else you'd like?"

"Can you help me catch up on the stuff I missed?"

"Of course," Riddle said, summoning a massive notebook. You gulped.

This was going to be a long day, wasn't it? Oh, well, at least it wouldn't be as bad as it would've been without Riddle.

Only three days after helping you get better, Riddle also got sick. You felt so bad, he was a stickler for attendance and now he was missing school because of you! You had to help him.

"I'm so, so sorry, Riddle, I swear!"

"You- achoo! H-Have nothing to- to be sorry for, Prefect."

[anistarrose]

The thing about the Heart Attack segment in Wonderland is that they put so much aromantic subtext in it. They accidentally put SO much aromantic subtext in it, on behalf of multiple characters, and I'm thinking about it constantly. Let me tell you all about it.

Magnus is dropped into a dating game and literally leads with "I cannot stress enough how uninterested I am in this." Now, it's perfectly valid to read this as due to him waiting for Julia, or just him being plain old uncomfortable with having his love life put in the spotlight. However! I cannot stress enough the exchange that happens just a minute or two after that line:

Magnus (describing his ideal date): ... and we don't see each other again, ‘cause I'm really not interested in dating. Audience: [exaggerated] Oooooh! (cheers) Griffin: The silhouette is like, fanning itself. Lydia: Playing hard to get, huh? It seems like our contestant is into that.

And I just have to say: unfortunately, this is one of the most aromantic fucking experiences I've seen represented in fiction in my life. I mean — saying you're not interested in romance, then having those words twisted on you, like they're some secret coded way of saying that you are interested in romance? Not having a single way to express your disinterest that'll actually be believed? That's some aro shit right there. God. Fuck.

As an aside, it's enough to really tell that Heart Attack is not designed to be a reprieve from the pain, even though it's the "good outcome" of Trust or Forsake. It's designed to be uncomfortable. To funnel suffering to Edward and Lydia, just like all the other games do. (More on that later, in fact.) But in summary:

Magnus is a character who can be read as uncomfortable with romance for either aro-spec reasons or unrelated reasons. But in either case, his discomfort attracts reactions that reek of amatonormativity — and therefore, resonate with aromantic experiences. (Psst, I did recently write a gray-aro Magnus fic!)

Two more analyses below the cut (and only one of them is for another Horny Boy):

Obviously the next character I need to talk about is Merle. I've found aroallo readings of his character to be compelling for a long time (having sex with plants so you don't have to worry about romantic commitment, am I right?), but the way he describes his "ideal date" is another factor:

Merle: I volunteer to drive her vehicle, and tell her it's filthy, and so we go through the uh- drive through vehicle wash and she pays for that too. Um, and then I take her to have dinner with my family, and- Magnus: Wait, like your wife and stuff? Merle: She meets my ex-wife.

Merle's probably exaggerating as a joke, continuing on about both him and his partner being miserable, but I think the fact that Merle's mind goes here is genuinely drawing from a lot of poor romantic experiences in the past. He didn't get a choice about being on Heart Attack, and his marriage with Hecuba was similarly "arranged".

It's also worth noting that at this point in time, Merle is putting in the work to be part of Mavis and Mookie's lives again, but is not interested in doing the same for Hecuba — he instead just asks Mavis how Hecuba's doing. That said, given that Magnus is the one to put the focus on Merle's ex-wife, I think it's fair to read the "family" comment as Merle actually expressing that he'd rather spend time with his kids than give any special romantic attention to his date. Moving on to the rest of the "joke":

Merle: She's having a miserable time and she's really mad, she can't wait to get outta there. I take her back to her house, and so I lean up against the door jam and say, 'Sure you don't want me to come in for a few minutes?' and she slams the door in my face.

It's possible Merle just has a more roundabout, self-deprecating way of expressing a similar thing to what Magnus did: Merle just isn't interested in dating. To me, the last line implies he might not say no to sex, if offered — but overall, it reads as if Merle is putting minimal effort in because he's looking for an excuse to get out of this relationship anyway.

It's also possible that Merle's "rejection" of a suitor being so disguised as humor could point to him still coming to terms with his disinterest in dating. Particularly, in comparison to Magnus, who is so vocal and unashamed about it, while Merle might still be figuring this all out.

(Honestly, the self-deprecation Merle turns to here is actually kind of sad, when viewed in that light — he already lets himself be the butt of jokes so often, and now he feels like the way romance doesn't click for him has to be a joke, too? Oof. Someone give him a hug and tell him he's not broken this instant!) But regardless:

Merle views dates, and perhaps romance in general, as things that will inevitably turn disastrous for him and any party involved with him, and he would rather spend time with his children than repairing a relationship with an ex, or cultivating a relationship with a new partner. This is not an experience exclusive to the aro-spec umbrella, but you can't say that an aromantic reading of his character doesn't fit him like a gardening glove...

...which he wears while fucking his plants. Because plants don't demand emotional intimacy, nor take too much time away from the platonic relationships that matter more to him. And you know what? He's fucking valid for that! Fly your flag, nasty grandpa!

But moving on: I promised you aromantic analysis of characters outside of our protagonists, and henceforth, that analysis I will provide. And not just because I admittedly see Taako as the token alloromantic (though clearly an aro ally; if he hadn't chosen Forsake we wouldn't have gotten all this incredible characterization!)

I digress. So let's go on to addressing the lich twins in the room: Edward and Lydia.

Remember my argument earlier that Heart Attack serves the purpose of collecting suffering just like the rest of Wonderland does? How it's just a subtler way of making Wonderland's victims fundamentally uncomfortable?

...Using, of all things, romance?

How the vogue twins, for whatever reason, felt inspired to make people uncomfortable with matchmaking and adoration? How, some way or another, they noticed how much potential romance had to induce suffering? Being pressured into a relationship, being told that no matter how firmly you say you're uninterested, you're not really uninterested?

...Relatedly, I have always gotten the sense that Edward and Lydia projected relentlessly onto their victims.

Edward: This resolve, this desire to do whatever it takes no matter the cost to save yourselves — do you know who you three remind me of? Magnus: No? Merle: Who? Edward: Us!

I'm even going to go a step further and say that on top of projection, they want their victims to go through things they went through. Swallowing the guilt of having fucked someone else over to survive, of course — that's basically self-admitted. But possibly also... the feeling of not being able to get back what you lost (Keats). The feeling of not being able to heal (Keats).

So, where does that leave Heart Attack?

Lydia: It was the three of us, surviving against all odds. The world against us.

Their family of three was (is) indescribably important to them. I'm not necessarily saying that societal expectations of romance, especially of romance as a priority above that of family, left a bad taste in their mouths — if not downright contributing to their trauma — but, okay, I wrote the rest of this post and now that I'm back, I can no longer deny it. I'm definitely, absolutely saying that.

At the time of the podcast, we know Edward and Lydia's own relationship is heavily strained. Until the end, they are lying to themselves and to each other about the fact that they continue to be emotionally and magically reliant on each other. After all, Lydia wouldn't say "I guess we really needed each other after all" in her dying moments with such surprise otherwise.

This is the second reason that I... well, I wouldn't quite call it a "theory," but I find it most impactful to read Edward and Lydia as characters for whom the concept of Love has baggage. And always has, from their origins as youth in a tough spot in an already amatonormative world.

Maybe the constant societal devaluing of platonic, familial bonds left them with serious emotional scars. Maybe the constant conflation of Love and morality just weighed on them and weighed on them and weighed on them until they decided: well, we don't love the way people expect us to, so we might as well give up on being the good people they expect us to be. We might as well embrace this new fuel of suffering.

...And you know, I hope this gets across what I mean when I always say I headcanon villains as aromantic to make them more sympathetic.

Edward and Lydia, textually, are already tragic villains. As twins and liches, they're also textually foil characters to several of the Seven Birds. But I also like to think that they have a lot in common with Magnus and Merle, and the possibility that tugs at my heartstrings the most is the possibility of them all falling under the aromantic umbrella.

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Thank you and happy reading.

Warning: This chapter will contain violence, as well as inappropriate language and adult sexual content. Minors should not read or interact with this chapter or this fanfic.

FIVE SEVEN

SIX (+18)

One thrust after another, while your heart felt like it was going to explode. Prince Aemond had his cock inside you, while you were wrapped around him. Your pussy dripping with pure lust as you let out loud moans in his ear.

"Shout louder, Gundjabo. I want you to be heard. Tell them who truly satisfies you." Prince Aemond whispers in your ear, biting it lightly. Prince Aemond’s voice drips with arrogance, his demand a cruel mix of authority and mockery.Your arms rest on his shoulders, while your nails dig into his back. He moves almost violently in and out of you. His cock deliciously exploring your pussy as if he wanted to make it his home. Your lips meeting his neck, initially making you want to kiss him there, but eventually you sank your teeth into his soft skin. Your teeth sinking into him each time his cock enters you further. It's like you can feel your body throb the deeper he goes.

"I belong to you, Your Highness. Please, punish me for having betrayed you. I deserve to suffer at your hands, ñuha dārilaros." Your voice trembles with submission, laced with a calculated vulnerability as you offer yourself to Prince Aemond, fully aware of the game you're playing. As you say this you feel Aemond smile against your neck as he lies on top of you. Aemond Targaryen's hands run around your body, reaching your ass. With his hands on your buttocks, he squeezes firmly making you gasp as you feel him take over your body. Then he pulled out of you with his cock making you grunt in frustration. Then he brought your legs together, lifting them in the air a little, and without further ado, he penetrated you. You moaned loudly, and then bit your own lip hard.

“That's how you like it, This is how you like to feel my cock, right promiscuous whore?" Prince Aemond speaks as he slowly drags his cock in and out of your pussy while still holding your legs with his arms. No lies, the way he's fucking you is kind of rough but it feels so good that you're lost in your own lust.

“If you wish to please me so greatly, why then do you seek to end my reign?” The voice is familiar, but as you glance up in confusion, it is not Prince Aemond standing before you—it is King Aegon II. His expression is one of unease, and without thought, you embrace him. A sigh of frustration escapes you before you murmur, "You may not remember, but you destroyed me, Your Grace." The words leave your lips with surprising ease, as if this truth had been long buried within you, waiting for this very moment to emerge.

“You tried to destroy me, yet in the end, he will be the one to claim you, laying you to eternal rest,” King Aegon II whispers, his lips brushing softly against yours as tears stream down his face, his arms clinging to you with a desperation that sends a shiver of fear through your body. You don’t understand his words, but the terror rising within you compels you to pull his arms away. As he turns from you, his eyes widen in shock, for before him stands Prince Aemond, mounted upon Vhagar, her immense form looming like a harbinger of fate.

Like a breath of life, you awaken from what was undoubtedly the most bizarre dream you have ever experienced. Disoriented, you find yourself lying in the bed of His Grace, King Aegon II. It appears you had drifted off to sleep unintentionally. The vividness of the dream still lingers in your mind, leaving you with a sense of unease. King Aegon II is asleep after a tireless night of fucking you. But his drowsiness isn't just because he ate you, but because he was drunk.

"Helaena, return to bed," King Aegon II murmurs, his eyes barely open as he gazes at you, his voice thick with sleep. He seems unaware of the reality, mistaking you for his wife in his half-conscious state. His hand touches your bare back, then starts to caress your breasts in sequence, almost abruptly.

"I must go, Your Grace. I do not wish to disturb your rest," you reply, neither denying nor confirming his assumption. His hand continues to trace over your bare skin until, at last, he seems to regain full awareness. His touch retreats from you in an instant. Knowing you should leave, you begin to dress, but before you can finish, he rises from the bed, seizing your arm and pulling you back to him. The tension lingers in the air as you feel his grip tighten, keeping you from escaping so easily.

"Do you think you're already carrying a child?" King Aegon II murmurs with unsettling candor, as though asking something entirely mundane. You're taken aback by his persistence, still fixated on the notion of getting you with child. Internally, you hope desperately that he will let go of this idea, though his words echo in the stillness, a grim reminder of the precarious position you're in.

"I fail to see how that would be of any use to Your Grace. After all, should there be a fruit of our union growing within me, it would serve you no purpose," you reply cautiously, your voice tinged with apprehension as you brace yourself for the king's reaction. You know well how unpredictable Aegon II can be, and the thought of provoking his wrath sends a chill through you, yet the words escape your lips with measured care.

"If Helaena refuses to restore Jaehaerys to me, someone must. My son, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms... my only heir. You will give him back to me, and I shall offer you something in return. Not that you have much choice in the matter, for I am your King." His gaze, already dark, seemed to deepen further, his voice laden with a dangerous intensity. You noticed his fingers gripping each other with unsettling force, as though teetering on the edge of madness. You blinked several times, trying to fully comprehend the weight of his words, uncertain if you had truly understood his demand.

"Your Grace, no one can return Prince Jaehaerys to you. I understand the need to fill the void left by him, but I am not your wife. It is with her that you must produce your heirs. With me, you may find the pleasures of the flesh and a loyal servant. I shall fight for your claim to the throne, but I will not bear bastards who serve no purpose for you."

You know well the treacherous path you tread with such words, especially in a moment as intimate as this. King Aegon II sighs, a heavy weight in his breath, before murmuring with bitter disappointment, "You deny me something you would so easily give to my brother." King Aegon II repeats this mutter a few times, transitioning from disappointed to angry as he approaches you. Even though he's naked and almost tripping, finds the strength to slap you in the face. The slap is strong enough to make you fall to the ground, feeling the burning sensation in the place where King Aegon II hit you.

"You think I do not see that it is him you desire?" Aegon II lets out a wicked laugh, his gaze burning into you as you lay on the floor. He kneels beside you, gripping your face tightly between his hands.

"I never wished to be with anyone but you, my King," you say, your voice trembling, as if trying to convince both yourself and him. The words come out faintly, your strength still fading from the force of your fall.

"Liar!" Aegon II bellows, his voice thundering as he releases your face and paces around you with restless fury. After pacing angrily around the room, Aegon II hastily donned part of his clothing and stormed out, leaving the door slamming in his wake. Slowly, you manage to rise from the floor, every movement weighed down by the burden of your choices. Your lip aches, and the faint taste of blood lingers in your mouth. Expecting something far worse to befall you, you feel the hot sting of tears slipping down your cheeks, unbidden. You should be accustomed to such treatment, after all, you grew up knowing cruelty. Yet, there are some wounds that cut deeper than others.

"Take her away. Summon Prince Aemond, so that he is made fully aware of what will become of his whore. Then, I want both of them in the throne room. Perhaps this will make it clear who truly rules here." You hear King Aegon II’s voice echo as his guards burst into the room. Their grip on you is harsh, dragging you out with merciless force. A part of you, filled with seething anger, longs to protest—perhaps even to call your King a pitiful madman. Yet another part of you is weary, worn from speaking without considering the consequences that always follow.

When you are thrown at the foot of the Iron Throne, your body—already tender and bruised—feels too feeble to resist the guards’ brutality. You stare at the throne, a puzzle that now seems beyond solving, as if it were mocking you. Death, you think, might be a mercy. If you die, all will be over. The guards leave the throne room, and you are left to ponder what fate lies ahead.

Then, with an extravagant stride, Prince Aemond Targaryen enters the room. You glance over your shoulder to confirm it is truly him. He walks with a sword at his side, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he is reveling in this moment—commanding attention with every step, his presence impossible to ignore.

"Gundjabo, what have you done to bring us here? Please tell me this is all a misunderstanding. I was interrupted amidst something of great importance," Aemond says impatiently, sighing as he stands beside you. You, lacking the will to rise, look up at him, your gaze steady as you murmur, "Do not concern yourself. You are merely here to witness my death, nothing more. And, since I am to die, I’ll admit something—I think you, Your Highness, are a monumental waste of potential." A chuckle escapes your lips as you witness the outrage that flashes across his face at your words. He crouches down to your level, his eye dark with fury as he tries to comprehend your insolence.

"How dare you speak so casually to me? Have you forgotten who you are? I could kill you for such insolence," Aemond growls, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he grips your hair with deliberate force. You laugh softly, your gaze unwavering, meeting his with surprising calm.

"When you look at me, Your Highness, do you see someone afraid of death? By the gods, my end is already upon me. Worry not," you reply, your tone indifferent, as though death were merely a passing inconvenience. Your nonchalance only stokes Aemond’s anger further. With a fierce gleam in his eye, he unsheathes his sword, the cold steel glinting ominously as he holds it before you, clearly intending to frighten you. But before he can act, the heavy doors to the throne room swing open, and in strides King Aegon II, fully dressed and composed. Without uttering a single word, he crosses the room with a regal air and ascends the Iron Throne, seating himself with an imperious silence, casting a shadow over the tense scene unfolding before him.

"Before the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms stand his brother and the whore," King Aegon II declares, his voice resonating with authority that fills the throne room. "Correct me if I am mistaken, but as sovereign, my word must reign supreme. Yet you both have dared to disregard it. My brother challenges me by believing I am too naïve to perceive the bond that exists between him and his erstwhile companion." He pauses, surveying both of you with a steely gaze, as if weighing your fates.

"He informed me prior to making this whore the rider of one of the most powerful dragons that, as sovereign, I would possess her. Yet, upon their arrival, he exhibited dominance over her. I can only conclude that her refusal to concede to my desires suggests that Prince Aemond is under the sway of her very own common sense. Thus, I see no better or more entertaining solution than to have you both engage in combat against one another." King Aegon II’s voice resonates through the throne room, each word dripping with authority and malice, as he awaits the reaction of both the prince and the woman at his feet.

"You mean to tell me that you, Your Grace, in the midst of war, wish for two dragonriders to battle each other until the more skilled prevails, merely to prove a point? Brother, your talents as a ruler grow ever more impressive. But as you will." Prince Aemond speaks with an ironic, almost mocking expression, as though his brother were a fool. At least someone had the audacity to challenge the King. Aemond extended his hand toward you, while removing his sword from his waist and casting it aside to a distant corner of the throne room.

"Gundjabo, sīmagon. Pāsagon bē aōha dārilaros," Aemond says as he stares at Aegon, who appears confused, almost as if he doesn’t understand. And then you realize. He doesn’t know what Prince Aemond has just said to you, so he will believe in whatever performance you both deliver. The fact that the prince wanted to warn you must mean he knows it would be a waste of time to kill you when you are still relevant to the war. Without hesitation, you take your combatant’s hand, rising to fight. You are at peace with the consequences of your actions, for this is the moment when you look determinedly at your opponent. Something within you—a power—grows. Perhaps it is the courage of those whose fate is sealed, but as you prepare to attack Prince Aemond, you feel an overwhelming strength take hold of you.

At first glance, your instinct is to go after Prince Aemond without delay. He is well-prepared to receive your attack, and as your fist nearly connects with him, he smiles with amusement, watching you stumble, nearly falling to the ground without landing a blow.  As you are almost lying on the ground you feel Prince Aemond kick you. The impact is so great that it feels like there is something burning inside you when you feel his kick.

"Brother, don't go easy on her!" King Aegon II shouts at the top of his voice, watching the two of you fight. As Prince Aemond advances toward you again, you quickly drop to the ground, grabbing his leg and pulling it out from under him, taking him by surprise. In a swift moment, still recalling the dream you had, you bite him. Sinking your teeth into the exposed part of Prince Aemond’s leg, despite his efforts to shake you off. The taste of his blood in your mouth confirms that you’ve bitten deep enough. Exhausted from the struggle, you finally release his leg, only to hear him shout a string of curses as he pulls back slightly. It's the moment that you take the opportunity to get up from the ground and recover. Prince Aemond is still rumbling when you get on his back. You hold your arms tightly around his neck, suffocating him a little more every second. He throws his head back as hard as he can, leaving you disoriented. With such force, you end up letting go of Prince Aemond and stumbling in sequence, falling to the ground. You feel your lip burn as you try to compose yourself, but Prince Aemond is on top of you before you can get up. 

"Don't resist, gundjabo." Aemond's eyes darken somehow as his hands wrap around your neck, you stare at each other as you gasp for air as his fingers slip into your skin more strongly. Then you try to spread your legs wide enough to wrap Aemond around you. Your hands trying to feel his body to find in his clothes a small dagger that you saw him keep before. It's hard to do this while you're losing your breath but you force his body even closer to yours and finally reach the damn dagger. You manage to take the dagger from the compartment in His Highness's clothing and then hold it against his neck. This is the second time this has happened between you two in some way, but this time it seems Prince Aemond is pleased that you have succeeded.  

"Kill him!" King Aegon II's voice echoes through the chamber as he sits on the Iron Throne. Surely, you must have misheard—His Grace wouldn't command you to kill his own brother.

"Come now, whore. If there is no attachment between you and Prince Aemond, kill him. Prove to your King that you speak the truth," he commands, watching as you hold the dagger firmly against Aemond. Prince Aemond seems to mask his surprise at his brother's words, though it is clear he did not expect such a command. If he so wished, he could have suffocated you by now—just as you, with a single motion, could slit his throat without hesitation.

"Your Grace, one of the dragons is out of control! The beast has devoured three dragonkeepers and is nearly upon your dragon!" A guard bursts into the Throne Room, his voice filled with terror. He freezes at the sight of the scene before him—the tense confrontation between you and Prince Aemond, unsure whether to proceed or retreat in fear.

With just a glance, it is as though you and Prince Aemond silently agree that there is no further need to attack one another, for Aegon II’s attention will soon be claimed by the conflict among the dragons. As you release each other, Prince Aemond collapses beside you, lying on the floor for a few moments, his breathing heavy and labored. Yet the realization strikes you almost instantly—the dragon causing the chaos could very well be yours.

"What dragon is attacking Sunfyre? Tell me at once, you fool!" King Aegon II shouts, his voice laced with concern; it is likely because his dragon serves as his safe haven. You rise alongside Prince Aemond, still feeling the imprint of his fingers around your neck, while you watch the guard nearly faint from fear.

"The beast with green eyes and black scales. The dragon that Your Grace recently tamed. It has been restless for some time now, as if growing agitated. I fear it may attack Sunfyre at any moment," the guard speaks, his voice trembling with anxiety. King Aegon II rises hastily from the Iron Throne, urgency driving him as he prepares to confront the dragons.

"Your Grace, allow me to be of service. I shall calm Cannibal, ensuring that no harm befalls him. In doing so, I can prove my worth to you." You speak with barely any strength, slowly approaching King Aegon II, who hesitates, shaking his head as if reluctant to accept your proposal. Surprisingly, he looks to his brother, seeking counsel or reassurance.

"Let her go to Cannibal. At worst, he will kill her, which would resolve your predicament without further complication," Aemond remarks with cold indifference. Naturally, he would be willing to risk your life to safeguard the dragons. Both Aegon and Aemond rely on Cannibal and require him to remain calm and under control. It is little wonder, then, that for these past weeks you have served not only as King Aegon II's concubine but also as the tamer of his dragon—or rather, the King's dragon.

"How easily you become helpful when it concerns this harlot, dear brother. You failed to eliminate her. She, in turn, has disobeyed my authority as King and failed to kill you," Aegon declares, his tone sharp. "Now, it falls to both of you to handle the dragon. In times of war, it is well to remember that I am the King. I rule the Seven Kingdoms. Fear me, obey me, and seek to satisfy only me. This applies to all—every one of you," he reaffirms, clearly seeking to belittle you while humiliating his brother. It is evident that Prince Aemond is seething, his irritation manifesting in the way he clenches his fists, squeezing his own hand with force.

"Mēre eglives ajorrāelagon zȳhon dohaeriros baelagon. Of course, Your Grace, we shall ensure the dragon causes no further hindrance," Prince Aemond responds with irreverence, before seizing your arm and dragging you from the throne room. He all but carries you through the halls of the Red Keep, his expression a mix of impatience, anger, and something undeniably captivating.

There is something in the wild swing of his hair, in the way his hand grips your arm with a firm yet skilled touch. Perhaps it’s the manner in which he disregards anything you might have to say as he leads you toward the dragonpit, his focus entirely set on the task at hand. You and Prince Aemond enter the dragon pit, drawn by the sight of Cannibal spewing fire at the dragonkeepers, clearly agitated. Without hesitation, Prince Aemond instinctively throws you toward the enraged beast, as if you were nothing more than a plaything—or a fine meal. Cannibal’s attention immediately shifts to you as you lie on the ground for what feels like the fourth or fifth time today. Rising now seems perilous, as you feel the dragon's hot breath wash over you. His enormous head draws closer, each exhale burning the air around you, while you remain perfectly still, unsure if any movement might provoke your doom.

"Lykirī, Cannibal. Ao issi ȳgha. Nyke kesīr." It is the most you can manage to say amidst your nerves. You had hoped to sound more decisive, but your voice trembles with fear. From behind, you hear Prince Aemond chuckle, clearly amused by the pitiful scene you are creating.

No sooner have the words left your lips than Cannibal unleashes a stream of fire toward where Prince Aemond stands. Then, to your astonishment, the massive beast gently withdraws, lowering his head onto your body as if seeking comfort or protection, leaving you both shocked and strangely relieved beneath the weight of his skull.

"The dragon has chosen me; there is nothing you can do to change that. The question you must ask yourselves is whether you wish to start an unnecessary battle, one that will surely result in the death of a dragon. Cannibal is ready for war, whichever form it takes. Look at the damage he has already wrought," you say, your voice measured as you try to control your breathing, still feeling the weight of Cannibal's skull resting upon you. Sensing your struggle beneath him, the dragon slowly lifts his head, releasing a deep roar that echoes through the pit. He moves deliberately toward Prince Aemond, who remains motionless, his eyes locked on the approaching beast.

"And what is it you desire in exchange for keeping your dragon under control?" Prince Aemond murmurs, his voice low, still fixated on Cannibal, who now stands before him, as though determined to intimidate. The dragon roars directly in front of the prince, as if toying with him, testing the boundaries of his royal composure. Aemond’s words are laced with quiet menace, his gaze unwavering as he confronts both you and the mighty beast. His question hangs in the air, the tension between you, the prince, and Cannibal palpable, as though the dragon himself waits to see how you will respond.

"I do not wish to bear the bastard children of your brother. Nor do I desire to be regarded as nothing more than a common whore. I care not if I am used for carnal pleasures, but if my existence in this place means I must constantly prove my loyalty and intentions, then it would be better for you to kill me now," you declare, your voice steady despite the gravity of your words.

The weight of your ultimatum lingers, as Cannibal stands close by, his presence adding to the tension. You meet Prince Aemond's gaze, unflinching, making it clear that you refuse to be reduced to a pawn in their power games without being recognized for more.

"You will never be more than a bastard whore to us," Prince Aemond declares, his eyes cold as they sweep over both you and Cannibal. His words are sharp, meant to wound, a reminder of your status in their world. Yet, even as he speaks, the looming presence of the dragon beside you challenges his defiance, a silent testament to the power you now hold—whether he wishes to acknowledge it or not.

"I will kill you for your insolence. You can be certain of that, gundjabo," Prince Aemond snarls, his voice dripping with fury as he watches you climb onto Cannibal’s wing, settling into the saddle. His expression is one of pure rage, his vengeful intent unmistakable. The frustration in his eyes is clear—he is powerless without Vhagar, who rests outside the dragonpit, leaving him to watch as you ascend with Cannibal. A twisted smile curls on his lips, though, as if savoring the thought of eventual retribution, even as you prepare for flight atop the mighty beast.

"I shall eagerly await the day you kill me, Your Highness. But for now, my dragon and I shall depart, in search of a way to prove our loyalty to the crown and King Aegon II. Kill me when you see fit, but spare me your empty threats, ñuha dārilaros." Your voice is steady and clear, designed to provoke Prince Aemond, hoping to put an end to his attacks and perhaps those of Aegon as well. Your dragon will be your key to securing whatever peace remains for you.

You give a sly smile as you watch Prince Aemond grumble in frustration, his eyes filled with murderous intent. "Sōvegon, Cannibal!" you command, and with a powerful movement, Cannibal shifts toward the exit of the dragonpit. Moments later, you soar into the skies above King’s Landing, leaving Aemond behind, his rage simmering below.

Cannibal’s mighty wings beat against the air, carrying both of you higher into the skies, the connection between dragon and rider strengthening with each moment. Below, the common folk stir in anxiety, likely fearing the very presence of Cannibal and the threat of a looming battle. You continue your flight, losing yourself in the vast expanse of the sky, unafraid of the dangers that might lurk on the side of Princess Rhaenyra. But then, your fear materializes as you near what appears to be a group of King Aegon II’s knights. They run, terrified, toward the trees, their panic evident. And then you see her—a young girl, bold and fearless, flying directly toward the knights atop her dragon. The beast is beautiful, though clearly still young.

A laugh escapes your lips without thought as you watch Cannibal, sensing the challenge, surge forward with terrifying grace, setting his sights on the younger dragon. As the winds whip around you, you understand—victory lies not in fear, but in power.

"One's greatest strength is revealed not by what they flee from, but by what they choose to face." You mutter, holding on tight to Cannibal's saddle as he goes straight for the other dragon's neck, sinking his teeth into it, taking both the poor dragon and its young rider by surprise. The noises of pain made by the other dragon make you feel sorry for him.

"Angōs, Moondancer," the young girl commands, her voice sharp as her dragon struggles in vain to fend off Cannibal. The sight is pitiful, yet Cannibal’s power is unmatched, and Moondancer’s attempts grow weaker by the second.

"You will regret this," the girl spits out in fury, her eyes blazing as they lock onto you. "My family will not allow you to escape unpunished for this." Her words are filled with defiance, but you had been too engrossed in the battle of the dragons to even notice her presence until now.

"Tell your family of what is about to happen. If you survive, warn them. There is a new dragon at King Aegon II's side, and he has quite the appetite for others of his kind. Surrender while you still can." Your voice is soft, almost unnervingly calm, as if you aren’t witnessing your dragon mercilessly tearing into hers mid-air. The girl clings to her dragon desperately, struggling to maintain her balance as Moondancer falters beneath Cannibal's relentless onslaught, her life hanging by a thread as they battle high above the ground.

"Who are you?" the girl screams in frustration, likely sensing the hopelessness of her dragon’s fate. Just before she can release herself and attempt to escape death, you decide to reveal something to her—something you have told no one else. Perhaps it is your confidence, or your arrogance, that leads you to believe she won’t survive this battle, and your little secret will die with her.

"I am the one who will rewrite the story of this war," you say, your voice low but certain. "A rider of Cannibal, and a servant to no man. Not Aegon, not Aemond. This war is but the beginning, and neither of us will leave it unchanged. But you, little rider, you won’t live to see that end."

"But more precisely, I am the daughter of some common whore and King Viserys. But don't spread it around. It has been a great pleasure to battle briefly with you. My advice is to learn to make wiser decisions. However, if you wish to continue being reckless, it would be my pleasure to defeat you again," you say, a smirk playing on your lips as you watch the girl's expression shift from frustration to disbelief.

With that, you turn your attention back to the chaos unfolding around you, Cannibal's power surging as he relishes his victory. The weight of your revelation lingers in the air, a secret kept in the heart of the storm.

"Irughagon zaldrīzes. Sīr!" you command, but it is too late. Cannibal, with all his fury, has already latched onto the young dragon, sinking his teeth into the creature’s flesh, dragging it down from the sky. The girl, whoever she may be, had the sense to release herself from the saddle just in time, plummeting through the air as her dragon is pulled beneath Cannibal’s crushing grip. You watch the scene unfold, feeling the force of the battle below you. Cannibal’s strength is unmatched, and it is clear that no mercy will be shown to the younger dragon. All that remains is whether the rider will survive her fall.

With his claws deeply embedded in the young dragon, Cannibal shows no mercy, swiftly eliminating his prey. True to his name, he feasts upon the younger creature, a brutal display of his ferocity. It is as if he is reconnecting with his true nature, embracing the raw violence that defines him. And as he shares this moment with you, the bond between dragon and rider intensifies, deepening with each savage act. The taste of blood and victory fills the air, and for both of you, this is only the beginning. War is upon you, and now, the true battle begins.

GLOSSARY

Gundjabo - Prostitute

Ñuha Dārilaros - My Prince

Sīmagon - Rise

Pāsagon - Trust or believe

Bē - On

Aōha - Your

Mēre - One

Eglives - Highness

Ajorrāelagon - Need

Zȳhon - His

Dohaeriros - Servant

Baelagon - Help

Lyrirī - Calm down

Ao - You

Issi - Is

ȳGha - Safe

Nyke - I

KesīR - Here

SōVegon - Fly

Angōs - Attack

Irughagon - Release

Zaldrīzes - Dragon

Sīr- Now

[toutvatoujoursbien]

A (relatively new-ish) fan’s perspective on Luke Newton

(I wrote my very first Tumblr post last month and now I think I’ve chosen the path of essayist/suffering. I’ve also been writing this on and off for four weeks because it seems like every other day, something new pops up or the fandom has a meltdown of some kind. I’m not even sure if it’s worth posting, but I think, like my first one, I needed to get this out of my system in order to TRY and return to being a normal person - which is still unlikely because Lukola has me in a chokehold. NOTE: I finished the majority of this on July 19, before all the weird-ass stuff happened over the weekend, and haven’t had the chance to post until now. Anyway, this is going to be long, full of ramblings that are hopefully organized in a cohesive manner, and all opinions and observations are my own. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings, okay?)

I’ve really struggled to understand why the whole Bridgerton S3 and Luke Newton PR stunt has embedded itself into my brain the way it has. Like, how could the actions of someone I don’t know still be lingering in my thoughts even now, weeks later? After my first post, I realized that there was more to the entire LN situation than I was previously unaware of - so I started digging. None of this information is hidden or secret, it was publicly available and therefore the fans picked up on it quickly. But I, personally, DID NOT KNOW ANY OF IT, going into S3, and I think that’s why everything has hit me like a ton of bricks. So I thought, surely I’m not the only new(ish) fan who has suffered from this emotional and mental whiplash? 

I really, really, really loved Luke’s portrayal of Colin and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching all the interviews and behind-the-scenes from S3. I would also love to continue to support him as he builds his acting career. However, I didn’t have a full picture, which unfortunately includes a history of making - what I think are - poor and questionable decisions in his personal life that he also allowed to bleed into his professional one. And that’s how I find myself struggling with the dichotomy of everything I’ve seen him do during Bridgerton promo vs. lots of other actions he’s taken. So let’s talk about it, okay? (Importantly, I reserve the right to update my current opinions as more information comes to light.)

I want it to be clear that I am in no way hating on Luke. Part of my struggle with writing this post has been because I don’t want this to be misconstrued as more hate being thrown his way. That is not my intention, at all. Seeing “fans” over the past few weeks absolutely rip into him on social media has been heartbreaking and deeply unsettling. This type of behavior is ugly and nasty and no one should be subjected to it. Full stop. As others have said: it’s okay to have thoughts and criticisms (criticism ≠ hate), but please keep it to the appropriate corners of the Internet. I think you can admire/support a famous person, but you should also be able to call them out on their conduct, particularly the stuff that happens in public. Blind love/following and putting people on pedestals is never going to allow any room for reflection and/or growth. I think there is a LOT of nuance in the whole discussion around him, his past actions, his handling of things now, and what’s in store for the future.

Okay, deep breaths & continue after the cut (because this got… wordy).

Some brief background on how I got here: As noted previously, I’ve been a longtime fan of both Polin and Bridgerton, first with the book series and then with the tv show. But, for whatever reason, I never even thought about jumping into the fandom until earlier this year, in anticipation of Season 3. I will say that I have been delighted with Nicola and Luke and their work as Polin from the start, but with the nature of the show being what it is, I just didn’t pay as much attention until it was their turn to lead. I watched some behind the scenes and promos occasionally, but not consistently. It wasn’t until around the February/Valentine’s event that I started to take notice and then I fell down the rabbit hole in April (literally, figuratively, and spiritually 😅). I say all this to illustrate that up until the spring, I was part of the General Audience, though admittedly with a bias towards viewing Bridgerton favorably.  Another factor is that I got most of my fandom content from Twitter (again, I’m never going to call it X), with the occasional peek into Instagram and Tumblr. Yes, Twitter is a hellscape. But I am also lazy and only have so much time to scroll online. And since everything seems to get cross-posted everywhere, it was easiest for me to keep mostly to one social media site to consume all my Bridgerton content. But I point this out because I now see this as an error on my part. Why? Because I wasn’t getting a well-rounded picture of the situation around L, N and S3. Remember my own self-admitted social media bubble? Sigh. The fast pace of tweets meant I could blink-and-miss something on Twitter, unless it trended (or really riled the fans up). It’s a breeding ground for the hyperbolic and for discourse, in general. Twitter also seems to be divided into the Luke Haters (let’s be real, most of their “reasoning” is just uncalled for, vile hate) and the Luke Apologists (who have the tendency to exhibit, imo, some gross-excuse-all-his-behaviors-he-never-does-anything-wrong rhetoric). So it wasn’t until I started noticing chatter of Luke’s past actions that it prompted me to start looking deeper into what others have witnessed and noted online, particularly on this platform. Again, it wasn’t like I was trying to find some sort of hush-hush subject matter. Instead, I rather got the impression that those established in the fandom had a sort of unspoken agreement to keep these discussions to DMs and group chats - mostly as to not detract from Polin’s upcoming season. (But seriously, great of y’all to keep it locked down, however it would have really helped a girl out all the times I was like, “why is everyone so mad?” 🤣) And a lot of things started clicking into place once I knew more of the details. So I’ve put together a list of high-level topics/points that I didn’t know before, being relatively new to the fandom. Perhaps this can help other fans who are trying to wrap their heads around the various discussions occurring now and may feel clueless.

One more thing, HUGE shout-out to @jack4132cf for giving me a concise timeline of… well, everything I apparently missed last year+ when I wasn’t part of the fandom 😆🙌🏼 They’ve really helped me fill in the blanks (of which I had many)! Also, darcytaylor has a great 3-part deep dive, and I’ve read (and backtracked) through most of herejusttosufferalong and allsortsofthingsmpov ’s blogs, among others. They’ve provided a place for differing opinions and perspectives to be voiced in a respectful manner (unless you’re a troll, in which any clap-back is justified). I may not agree with everyone’s take, but I firmly believe that hearing views from others has helped shape my own thought process.

Let’s begin, shall we?

The Hot Fuck Boy Summer™️ (which I’m trademarking as HFBS)

Bridgerton S3 wrapped up filming in March 2023 and then Luke starred in the play The Shape of Things, which was in production from around May-July 2023. At some point prior to all this, Luke and his previous gf broke up - this is reported on by several media outlets in March, as well as “news” that he joined the dating app Raya. This is where, I think, his questionable behavior starts to raise eyebrows. It’s not the fact that he’s dating - I feel like fans gave him a pass since he just ended a long-term relationship (Enter the mentality some had of “let him have his hot boy summer!”). No, I think the issue is that he was not at all private or discreet about it. 

Remember when I said I think he let choices in his personal life bleed over into his professional one? Yeah, there were multiple glaring examples happening in real time last year, and the fandom took notice. He started publicly following certain users on IG and liking their posts, (unfortunately) many of whom were young, female models and dancers, under the age of 23. He (foolishly) followed his private account on his public profile, and then tried to backpedal. He engaged with some online flirtations that didn’t sit well with the fans (cough, E. Bear, cough), and then tried to backpedal. Mind you, all of this occurred and at some point later on, it’s then also decided that he’s going to move (aka, clean up) his social media presence to be more work-related. My point is:

Luke was digitally messy and left a trail (several, really). 

In conjunction with the HFBS, we also have:

& That Friend Group

Ah yes, the “boys.” Look, clearly I don’t know his friend group in real life, so all I can speak on is the image they give off based on their public social media accounts. And I, personally, am very unimpressed with what they’ve chosen to share with the world. My general perception is that L’s group of friends love to have a good time and show it off; seem to have an large amount of influence over him, particularly R; and can been seen as reaping the benefits of his success. He has discussed before how he likes to be generous with his friend group. During HFBS, they posted all about their vacations, on public accounts, and tagged Luke in them. They posted thirst trap photos and tagged Luke in them. They took quite a few boat trips and, once again, tagged Luke in them. Are we sensing a pattern here?

His friend group was also digitally messy and left trails.

I am in no way saying his friends aren’t allowed to post whatever they want on their accounts. It’s totally within their rights to have a good time and capture it on their pages, and I completely understand the desire to only show the “memorable” and “fun” stuff on social media. I just think it was short-sighted to NOT consider that Luke’s fans would be interested in seeing what he was up to with his friends - and you know that people will always, always dig around on the Internet. Maybe this was some kind of fun game to them? Maybe they enjoyed the attention? Maybe they didn’t think it was that big a deal? Who knows? But I think, in hindsight, it would have been safer and smarter to not have all this documented and out in the open, imo. 

My other understanding is that around the time the break up was “officially announced,” Luke’s ex began dating someone who was 22/23 at the time. His childhood friend R also ended a relationship last year and began dating a young woman around 22/23. Do I think R may have encouraged Luke in a certain direction dating-wise, especially considering that A was/is a friend of S, R’s new gf? Do I wonder if this was all to get back at J for starting a relationship with a new young thing, too? It seems likely, but of course this is all conjecture on my part. This is giving “high school drama” vibes, being played out in public, which is very, very  unfortunate.

However, Luke was ultimately the person who did not ask his friends to refrain from posting him on social media, as well as publicly following young women on socials and not being very discreet about his dating life, which is what raises my eyebrows…

The Age Gap Thing

Let’s just address this here and now. Remember, these are my opinions, each individual is entitled to their own, and I hope everyone takes a moment to really think and evaluate how they feel about the matter! I’m going to be very transparent and upfront about this:

I do not like the age gap between L and many of the young women he was showing interest in last year.

I’m viewing this from the lens of someone who is an elder Millennial and female. For me, personally, my dislike has more to do with: 1) A's age when they started dating/the age she is now (22/23); but more specifically 2) the power dynamics at play. 

I don’t have a problem with age gaps overall, because I believe that love can find us at many stages in life. However, I’m also of the opinion that a person 30+ should not be dating a someone in their early 20s. I’m not going to use the whole “the brain hasn’t been fully developed” argument, though valid. My issue has more to do with where an individual is in terms of life experience, emotional and overall maturity, and (this ties in with #2) financial stability within age gaps. In general, I find, say, a 45-year-old dating a 37-year-old to be on more even footing, which becomes even more so as you age. But a 22-year-old, presumably fresh out of college/university and about to embark on their next steps into adulthood, is just not in a position to date someone in their 30s. To me, your early 20s are the time for you to gain all the things I mentioned above (life experience, maturity, financial stability that is independently your own) as well as make plenty of mistakes. And that’s not to say any of that stops once you hit 30, or beyond! I know I’m constantly evolving and learning more about myself and my place in the world as each year passes.

My deeper discomfort comes from the inherent power dynamics and power imbalance between L/A. Of course L has lot more of the power in terms of money, resources and status; they are not equal partners. This article here (https://jill.substack.com/p/the-problem-with-men-who-date-much) illustrates these points much better than I can; I think it’s worth the read. 

Is he allowed to date whomever he so chooses? Yes. Are people allowed to feel the ick with the current choice/choices he made last year? Also yes. Does it entitle anyone to post nasty comments on his social media? Absolutely not. I may not personally like his choice, but it’s ultimately his to make. 

NOTE: I also want to address right here that, to me, his behavior isn’t “predatory” or whatever twisted narrative some folks are trying to push. Honestly, I think he’s gone the complete opposite direction from the type of women his ex and N are because it might be less complex/more simple both in terms of emotions and permanence. But obviously, pure speculation on my part. 

Antagonistic A

At some point during HFBS, L meets A and she becomes a part of That Friend Group. During Fall 2023, there are many trips to Soho Farmhouse and other posts made to R/S/A’s social media accounts. A in particular made quite a few posts that could be interpreted as her wanting to show she was with L, but never actually including him fully (these are the arms/legs photos that fans talk about and side-eye). Some of these types of posts have since been conveniently deleted. L and That Friend Group celebrate NYE24 at Soho Farmhouse, where everyone but him share photos and videos. On Jan 2, a photo of L and A kissing was circulated on social media -  they got caught in the video of the band playing. Also at the beginning of this year, A - for whatever fucking reason - started tagging along on various work trips and had a tendency to post TikTok’s from various hotel bathrooms. Again, insinuating that she’s with L but not outright showing it. 

The “InStyle stunt” - end of March/early April, there is a trip to Los Angeles which A posted stories and photos on IG. It’s later revealed that L was going to be featured in InStyle Magazine’s “This Guy” series, which included an interview, video and photoshoot, as well as an IG post that consisted of several polaroid, “boyfriend-style” pictures. The Instyle polariods were released three weeks after A’s posts, and let’s just say that A’s are a little too on the nose to be coincidence (also cue more hand/leg reveals…) Please note, again, that some of these photos on A’s account have been conveniently deleted/removed.

These are only a few examples of how… messy this all is and how it can be viewed as her antagonizing the fans. There is a lot of back and forth debate between “just leave her alone, she’s allowed to post what she wants” against “she’s clearly using social media to taunt the fandom/get attention/chase clout/etc.” When I finally learned about all the social media games being played, I just felt really unsettled for a few reasons.

Luke has stated that he wishes to keep his private life more private (see: social media clean-up from last fall). But, and this is my big issue here, A and That Friend Group don’t seem to WANT to be private. So to me, that can push people to question how much does he know what’s actually going on (he admits to not being online much) and, more importantly, how complicit is he with all of their postings? I personally feel like the narrative being pushed by his friends is very self-serving, and doesn’t seem like it’s in L’s best interest or protecting his privacy. Because I think we all know and understand that if a celebrity wants to keep certain things private, they have the money and resources to do so - some good examples that come to mind are Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes, Benedict Cumberbatch, Dolly Parton, and our girl Nicola herself.

A has made it a pattern to post shortly after either Nicola or the main Bridgerton account posts something, usually on IG or TT; there is timely evidence of this. So much so that the fandom jokes about how obsessed she must be with N. And these posts don’t really have much substance - other than to show off her body or her latest vacation. It just all comes off as very insecure and seeking attention, whether it’s from L or from the public in general. Again, why do we feel the need to play social media games? But this does not mean she deserves hateful comments either. I personally don’t care for her or her actions, but as an older female, I also can’t help but be saddened by the fact that she’s making many, many poor choices in a very public forum. I can’t help but wonder if she’s going to have regrets later on when/if she reflects back on this time. 

The PR Stunt/Papgate

This has been dissected by the fandom to death and there are a plethora of theories on who exactly was responsible for calling the paparazzi, who knew what was actually going to happen, WHY did this occur, and how much did this impact the season and the press tour overall. It’s enough to make anyone’s head spin - hell, I’ve changed my opinion at least a dozen times over the past several weeks. Regardless, the thing that aggravates me the most about the whole thing is the absolutely terrible and suspicious timing of it. As stated in my previous post: Here’s my point: I think what should have been a moment of triumph and a joyous occasion for Nic, Luke, and Bridgerton season 3, was sadly overshadowed by the aforementioned shitstorm. And that’s a damn shame. Too many cast and crew put in a lot of time, effort, and blood sweat and tears, to pull this all together.

I’m still personally stuck on a few things: 1) How did paps know when L was leaving the official after party? Additionally, how did they know which hotel L was going to for his after-after party? Because that’s where we got the super awkward handhold attempt photos. 2) Did L know about the first location but not the second one - which ties into was this an attempt by his PR team to distance himself from Bridgerton and Nicola now that promo was almost done? Because the way he looks from location 1 to 2 is vastly different. 3) If paps were there, why was literally NO ONE else from the cast also photographed??? 4) Why has DM double (and tripled) down over the past few weeks on how she got those exclusive photos in the first place? And 5) Who ultimately has benefited the most from this whole PR stunt 🤔??? (Because I sure as hell don’t think it’s Luke…)

The Cinnamon Roll vs The Bad Boy

Luke has stated in several interviews that he’s interested in going for edgier, darker roles. I think that’s great that he wants to try something new and diversify; I would love to see him in whichever type of role interests him! However, he’s also spent 4-5 years playing Colin, a character that is quirky, kind and lovable (much more so on the show, thanks to Luke’s portrayal) and known for being the ultimate “wife guy” amongst the fandom. It’s also been mentioned time and time again that Luke is most like his character (by Luke himself and his Bridgerton cast mates). Nic speaks so highly of him, and the way he presented himself during the 6 months of press was really wonderful; I think he has a deep understanding and love for his role, and he was a genuinely supportive partner to his co-lead during filming. Think golden retriever energy - which is NOT a bad thing, at all!

If there is any truth to the PR stunt being organized by his team (and I’m in no way saying this is fact) as a way to differentiate/disassociate him from Bridgerton/Nicola, then I think this was a miscalculation on their part. We know that Luke did a lot of editorial photoshoots during the promo tour; and looking at the pictures now, it seems like there was definitely a narrative/aesthetic that was trying to be pushed of a more intense, moody and provocative L. Which is also fine! I don’t think he must be one personality or the other; humans are multi-faceted and complex, it’s what makes us so interesting.

The (Ongoing) Fallout

This is really difficult to write about because, honestly, I feel like we’re still witnessing it happening in real time, bit by agonizing bit. What we do know is that at this moment, he hasn’t announced any new projects other than returning for Bridgerton Season 4. He hasn’t announced any major brand deals and we don’t know what his next steps are career-wise. Which is completely baffling to me because I would think he and his team would want to capitalize on the momentum of a very successful season of a Netflix/Shondaland production. However, this is his life and his job, so until he comes forward with literally anything to say (a statement, an announcement, hell, he hasn’t even publicly claimed to have a gf FFS), then everything else is just noise and speculation. As much as I hope he’s not taking another HFBS, I also wouldn’t blame him for wanting to step away from the spotlight. He’s been unfairly dragged and smeared since the Part 2 premiere. Do I think he and his team/friend group have made a some missteps along the way? Yes, but again, no one deserves the nasty comments and vitriol that has been flung his way. 

So How Do We Move Forward?

I keep thinking back to the adage: When someone shows you who they are, believe them.*

And isn’t this the root of my (and perhaps others’) struggle? Because it’s been really difficult to reconcile someone Nicola calls “a true gentleman, the kindest friend, a dream costar” with a man who seemingly (?) goes along with pap walks, Instagram subterfuge, and appears to be distancing himself from the very project and costars that helped propel him into the leading man spotlight. For me personally, I go back to my point that people are multi-faceted and deeply complex. I think Luke can be all of those things; I also think he might be struggling right now to figure out who he is and what he wants next after being scrutinized so heavily.

Also from my first post: We have to remember, though, that what we’re shown is only a fraction of their true selves, carefully and deliberately curated to accommodate their status as actors/celebrities/those in the public eye. 

I choose to believe that we saw glimpses of the real Luke throughout the press tour. (ColinBridgey is a rockstar and compiled everything into a master list for our enjoyment!) I choose to believe Nicola knows Luke a hell of a lot better than almost everyone else yapping in this conversation. I choose to believe that his anxiety and quietness could be perceived as standoffish, and unfortunately he wasn’t able to shine as much as Nicola during the press tour, but they are a team and have each other’s backs - there is genuine love there, after all. I choose to believe that social media posting and likes are not indicative of the actual friendship and relationship between L and N. I would love to see him post more, or be more vocal in publicly thanking Bridgerton and Nicola - however, I realize those are expectations I have/desire and he does not owe me anything. 

I choose to believe that despite the mistakes and missteps, he’s a decent human being who deserves to live his life on his own terms and at his own speed. I really, really hope that whenever he announces his next project, I can be joyful and supportive. There’s a lot of talk about giving him grace, which I agree with. I cannot imagine, nor do I desire to be in the public eye this way; it’s easy for us and others to feel entitled to say things behind our screens and keyboards, but these are real, actual people with lives and feelings.

I do think that it is for the best interest of the fandom to try and ignore A and That Friend Group (and DM) as much as possible. And I will be the first to admit that it is really fucking hard to do so. Like I’ve said before, I try to ignore toxicity and hate, but I am also human and therefore imperfect and capable of pettiness. There is just something about this situation (probably how much Lukola captivated me and how much disdain I have for his friend group) that makes me watch everything play out like it’s a train on fire, careening towards an unfinished bridge, over a ravine. Sometimes I feel bad because I wonder if I’m adding to the entire spectacle with my continued interest. But then I remember that I specifically keep it to this corner of the internet, and I’ve found a nice little community where we can gossip and discuss and dissect it all.

If you’ve made it to the end, thank you. This is just everything I’ve been ruminating over the past month, put into word vomit form. I would looove to hear your thoughts and takes on everything/anything discussed above. Maybe you have a different perspective or noticed something that I missed.

*Fun fact: In my research, I learned that this saying comes from Maya Angelou’s “A Song Flung Up to Heaven” and is actually "Believe people when they tell you who they are. They know themselves better than you.” The more well-known version comes out of an Oprah Winfrey interview with Angelou in 1997, where they were discussing life lessons. Okay, I’ll stop being a nerd now.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

hear me out spicy enemies to lovers arc with the 07 nightwatcher 😩

The Nightwatcher and the Dark Angel (18+)

2007!Raphael x vigilante!reader

A/N: I hear you loud and clear😏 May this appease the Nightwatcher and his followers!❤️

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A vigilante, going under the name of the Dark Angel, finds herself in a new situation with her enemy, the vigilante the Nightwatcher. And oh boy, can they fight in more ways that the traditional.

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Fighting, hand to hand combat, unprotected sex, rooftop sex, angry sex, fight over domination, doggy, hair pulling.

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One would think that two vigilantes would work well together. Help each other out with their common enemies of the streets, doing their part to create a safer world for those who could not protect themselves. Yeah, one would think so, but reality was nothing like that.

But the Nightwatcher and the Dark Angel could not stand each other. The Nightwatcher found himself built with anger whenever he saw the fully black dressed female with her bow and arrows, and the Dark Angel in turn would let out a frustrated sound whenever she heard his roaring motorcycle, or the sight of the headlight upon his helmet.

Their hatred for one another started back when they both happened to stumble upon the same back rubbery. But instead of working together, they found themselves annoyed at one another, not willing to let the other take the authority. And so it happened that the Nightwatcher’s ball chains got in the way of the Dark Angel’s arrows, resulting in the criminals getting away. And from then on, every interaction between them had been marked by that night. Bickering or straight up fighting whenever they saw each other, becoming more focused on the vigilante that threatened what they both saw as their work. Their duty to the city.

It got to the point where the two vigilanties would consider their nights ruined, if they as much as thought of the other. And thought they did. But in their vigilante attire, and outside of it. Much to the frustration of the Dark Angel, she found that Nightwatcher entered her head. Not only the Dark Angel had to suffer the Batman wannabe, but so had (Y/N) (L/N). You.

He found his way into your head, both while you were at work and while you tried to further your studies. It was frustrating to have that no good, annoying piece of shit stuck in your head. And yet he stayed there, taking up way too much space than what he was worth.

There had been times where you had thought about quitting the whole vigilante thing because of him. The dangers you were putting yourself in didn’t matter much to you, but the stress of the Nightwatcher was a whole other thing. You started to wonder if it was really worth it, when you no longer felt like you could separate your late night crime fighting from your normal everyday. But then you remembered why you started doing it in the first place. To combat the crime that had been rising all over New York in the past few months. And for the simple fact that you loved it. The thrill, the adrenaline and the rush you felt every night. You had pretty much become addicted, and you did not wish to stop. So therefore you continued your work as the Dark Angel each and every night, even if the Nightwatcher was becoming an aching thorn in your side.

It was a Wednesday night. Had it not been for the light pollution of the big city, you would have been able to see the stars in the cloud free sky. However the moon was fully visible, the round white shape casting a dim white glow down over the townhouses and high rises. You could hear cars and sirens in the distance, just like you could any other day in the city that never slept. The cold night air swept over the apartments and through the streets, and blew against your face. You could just feel it through your black skin tight bodysuit, as small goosebumps rising under your skin. You took in the scent of the air, letting it fill your lungs. The city you loved. The city you intended to protect.

As you stood atop the building, you suddenly heard it. The ringing of an alarm. You speed into action, running towards the sound. Jumping across roofs before you finally came upon the scene. Below you, on the street, a van stood by a jewelry store, the glass of the storefront broken, and five men rushing out, their hands filled with whatever they had been able to grab. They rushed to the van, laughing and smirking with one another, until a black arrow shot through the air, penetrating the back door of the van. The five men turned in shook and disdain, staring at you as you rushed down from the roof, landing in the middle of the street.

“Ow, not this bitch again”, one of them growled.

“Nice to see you again, Drew”, you said, resting your weight onto one of your legs, looking totally unbothered. “But after our last meeting, I had hoped you finally would find something better to do”.

“Guys”, the one called Drew said, cracking his knuckles. “I believe it’s time to show the Angel that we do not believe in any higher powers”.

“No, that much is obvious”, you mumbled, drawing another arrow from your back. You did not wish to kill anyone, but only hurt them a little. Just enough to hopefully scare them off the street. It had worked before with the rest of Drew’s gang, so why should it not with his new one.

But then, as you pulled on your bowstring, you heard the familiar noise of a motorcycle down the street behind you, and soon the street was lit up by the front light of the noise motorcycle, and the headlights of that obnoxious helmet. Dread fell upon you as the Nightwatcher jumped up the motorcycle, landing just beside you.

“Argh, not you again”, he grumbled at the sight of you. “And you too, Drew. Do you really not have anything better to do”.

“Leave”, you snarled at him. “Can’t you see I got this?”

“Got this? Well, that’s strange, because to me it looked like they were about to get away in a van, and you intended to shoot arrows at it?”

“That’s not what was happening!”, you exclaimed, lowering your arrow as you spoke. “I was about to get them away from the van!”

“I have eyes!”, he growled, gesturing towards his eyes with two fingers from his three fingered glove. You had always thought that had been an odd choice. “And I could see that was not what was happening!”

“You don’t know anything about that!”, you yelled back, turning fully in order to continue your argument, all while the five goons were watching in confusion.

“Boss?”, one of them whispered to Drew. “Should we go?”

“We should”, Drew said, watching you and the Nightwatcher as you continued to argue. “Get into the van before they notice anything”. And so they did. They threw the stolen goods into the van, smiling as they pulled your arrow out of the door, throwing it onto the street. And somehow, neither you or the Nightwatcher noticed it, until the motor of the van started.

You and the Nigthwatcher looked, just as Drew waved, closing the door before setting the van into motions.

“Oh no you don’t!”, you yelled, running after the vehicle, managing to jump onto the back, your feet on the edge of the back bumper, your hands clinging onto the handle of the back door. The Nightwatcher however ran to his motorcycle, setting it into motion in order to follow the van.

On the back of the van you grabbed at the handle, trying to get the door open. But then the door opened from the inside, one of Drew’s goons looking at you with a smug smile.

“Sorry, but we don’t allow Angels in the van”, he said, as if it was supposed to sound badass. It was then that he pushed you off the moving van, sending you tumbling on the road, before slamming the door closed.

The Nightwatcher that had followed behind you and the van swerved, trying not to run you over, but instead turning so hard he fell over. He hit the ground, groaning just like you, both hearing the van drive away.

—

“You always get in my way!”, you yelled as you got up on the roof, looking in the direction the van had droven.

“I get in your way?!”, the Nightwatcher yelled furiously, following you up the fire escape, his boots hitting hard against the roof. “Who was it that almost got run down by my motorcycle? Oh yeah, you!”

“And you were the one that didn’t even try to use the fucking breaks!”, you barked back, turning sharply towards him.

“Or, you could just not stand in the middle of the fucking road, Cupid”, he said, a finger from his three fingered glove poking you in the head with a hard push, sending your blood into a boil.

“Watch your finger, Robin!”, you snarled, slapping his hand away.

“What did you just call me?!”, he growled, his stands growing wider.

“You heard me, Batman wannabe!”

“That’s it!”, he yelled, pulling out his chain ball before throwing them to the side. “It’s time to settle this! You and me, right here! No weapons! Loser has to leave the other one alone!”

With anger burning inside of you, you agreed. However, you treated your bow and arrows with more care than he had shown his chains, placing them on the sideline, before standing in front of him, stance ready. “Come at me, hot head”.

It was as if that comment made something click inside the Nightwatcher’s head, making him throw a punch in your direction. You duck before standing to the side, giving him a hard push. He stumbled a little, turning to you with a growl, throwing another punch. You ducked once more, this time trying to get in a punch of your own. He caught your hand however, but did not expect the upper that hit his chin. It was harder than any of you had expected. So hard that he stumbled back as his helmet flew off. You gasped at your action, your knuckles slightly aching from the punch. You had been in small physical fights before with the Nightwatcher, but never had you managed to punch his helmet straight off of his head.

“Fuck!”, he exclaimed, his hands still on his face.

“What’s wrong?”, you asked, the shock of your punch subsiding. “Can’t handle a punch?”

Then, the Nightwatcher jumped on you, pinning you to the roof. You stared in shock at the face in front of you. You started at a green face and a pair of pretty brown eyes, all with a red bandana tied around the head. Yet somehow, you found the green face handsome.

“Now you’ve seen my face”, he growled, one hand grabbing a hold of your full face mask. “Let’s see who this Dark Angel is”.

That was when he pulled your mask off in a swift move, making you suck in a breath of anticipation. You expected him to say something. To continue your fight. But it didn’t happen. Silence fell over him, your mask still in his fisted hand. From his position above you, the Nightwatcher could do nothing but stare. This was not what he had expected. He had thought you would be hideous to look at. He wanted you to be hideous. After everything he had been through with you, he had thought your face to be repulsive. But to his dismay you were absolutely beautiful, the word Angel describing your appearance very well.

He almost felt angry at you for being so beautiful. It made it hard for him to hate you like he did just a few moments ago. It made it even harder for him to hit you, the fist with your mask still hanging in the air, clenching around nothing but the black fabric. Yet he felt the burning need to do something to you. You had been a pest to him, ever since he first met, and now you had punched him and seen his face. He had to do something. And he did. Just not what he had thought he would do.

The moment his lips hit yours, you froze. You had not expected that. But neither did you try to push away or tell him to stop. No, because you did not want him to do so. So instead you turned your head to the side, allowing him to deepen the kiss with you. A growl escaped him, his fist and your mask falling to the roof as his lips started to move against yours, your hands reaching up to hold his green head.

The kiss became heated quickly, with both of your tongues fighting for dominance, neither of you willing to let the other take over. And with that mindset, you quickly pushed him onto his back, straddling his legs before diving in for the continued fight of your tongues. From here you started working on the two buckles that lined his front.

“Someone’s eager”, he smirked into the kiss.

“To get you to shut up? Yes, very much”, you said, pulling him in for another kiss as you opened his last buckle. You were surprised to hear him hum into the kiss, his hands feeling your thighs through the fabric of your suite, letting you pull on the zipper that went from his collar and all the way down his torso. It was when you pulled back in slight surprise, feeling his chest where the zipper had allowed you to, only to feel his hard plastron, that he took the change. In a shift move he pushed you down onto your stomach, before letting himself rest on top of you, his mouth finding the curve of your ear.

“Then you have to be better than that, little Angel”, he smirked, before nibbling at your earlobe. You shivered, yet refusing to let out the whimper that pressed in your chest. You would not give him that satisfaction. “Now, where the fuck is that dumbass zipper?”, he growled, searching the top of your collar.

You could not help but chuckle. “Getting eager, Watcher?”

“To teach a little brat like you a lesson?”, he asked, a hand coming around to hold your chin. “You bet”.

His other hand finally found the opening of your zipper, pulling it down and showing off your bare back. You could hear the Nightwatcher cures under his breath as he went lower, all the way to the top of your ass.

“Holy shit, have you always been naked under that thing?!”, he asked in surprise. In fact, he was so surprised that he did not fight when you forced him onto his back once more, straddling him again. He watched in awe as your suite came loose, showing off the skin of your shoulder. You smiled smugly at him, feeling proud of the expression he gave you.

“So if I have?”, you asked, pulling further down on his zipper, almost reaching the bottom. “Can’t the Nightwatcher handle that?”

“And here I thought the whole Angel thing had something to do with being pure”, he said, licking his lips as the zipper reached his cloaca.

Unable to resist you leaned down to where his ear would have been, licking your lips before you spoke. “When have brats like me ever been pure?”

That caused him to move quickly once more, trying to force you back onto your stomach, but you resisted on your knees, not letting your stomach touch the roof. As you tried to stand, the Nightwatcher’s hand pressed down on the top of your back, forcing your chest against the roof. In this position your ass was up in the air with him pressing himself against you from behind. With his free hand, he pulled your open suite down your ass, revealing your soaked core to him. And that was when you felt something hard being pressed up against your cheek. He grabbed ahold of himself, slowly sliding himself up and down your slick folds.

“Admitting defeat yet, Angel?”, he asked, his voice dripping with smugness.

“(Y/N). And no, I’m not admitting to anything”, you said, fighting not to moan when his head brushed over your clit.

“In that case, (Y/N), I’ll just have to continue until you admit”, he chuckled, before pushing his swollen head through your drenched entrance.

You gasped out loud at his size, surprised at the pleasurable stretch he provided you. From the back you could hear him let out a satisfied groan, his hands resting on your hips for a moment as he got used to the tight fit. And then, finally, he started moving. You forced your mouth shut when you felt the moans that were about to fall off of your tongue, not wishing to inflate his already big ego. But the Nightwatcher noticed, chuckling once more.

“Oh, now you don’t wanna talk? Too bad, because I wanna hear you”, he said, before grasping a firm grasp on your hips, thrusting much harder and faster into you than before. Your mouth fell open, unwilling moans falling from your lips as you felt him reach further into you.

“Fuck!”, you moaned, slapping a hand against the roof in frustraion. “You, you, oh fuck!”

“Raphael”, he growled, his still gloved hand reaching around the back of your neck. “Call me, Raphael”.

You almost wanted to laugh at the irony. Here you were, the Dark Angel of New York City, getting dicked down on top of a roof top, by the Nightwatcher who just so happened to have the exact same name as an archangel. But instead of laughing, you moaned, feeling his hand move from the back of your neck and into your hair, where Raphael grabbed a fistfull, pulling your head back and in turn forcing your mouth open.

“Fuck!”, you almost screamed. “Raph!”

“That’s right, (Y/N). Scream my name. Let the city know who’s fucking you this good”, he said through a strained voice.

Once again you slapped your hand against the roof, frustration filling you as you moaned out his name once more. But even more frustration over the fact that you did not hate it. You should hate Raph. Even as his cock reached that good spot inside of you, you should hate him. But you just couldn’t. Whatever he was and the way he was fucking you had made your emotions for him soften quite a bit. But in that moment, you could not deny how you wanted him to moan your name the same way you had been moaning his. And it was with that thought in mind that you started moving your hips against him.

Raph gasped as the way you started to bounce back against him, the grasp he had on your hair releasing quite a bit. With every move you made back onto him, he leaned further and further over you, until he just couldn’t stop himself from letting his lips kiss up and down your spine.

“Admitting defeat yet, Raphael?”, you asked with a self satisfied smile, as you felt one of his arms slide down under you, pulling you closer against him.

“You’re no angel. You’re a demon, (Y/N)”, he growled against your neck.

“Nothing the Nightwatcher hasn't tried before?”

“Oh, fuck you, (Y/N)”, he moaned, his hips trying to catch up with yours.

“You already are, Raphie boy”, you smiled at him, causing him to moan against your skin.

It didn’t take long before his hips started to shutter, moving against you with such speed that you couldn’t keep up anymore.

“Fuck, (Y/N)”, he moaned against your shoulder. “I’m about to cum”.

“Me too, Raph”, you whimpered, feeling your peak reaching closer and closer, stars forming before your very eyes. It only took a few more thrust before you came around him, your walls hugging him tightly as he continued his high speed against you. Then, finally, he came, moaning your name out loud as he came inside of you, coating your walls with him, before he slowly pulled out of you.

You wanted to rest. You wanted to take your time and maybe for once, have a civil conversation with Raphael. But you couldn’t. With the sky getting brighter in the east, you knew it was time to get going. And so did Raphael. Standing up, he helped you back on your feet, zipping up the back of your suit before taking care of himself. He then went to where your mask and helmet was, handing you your mask.

You sighed as you held the mask in your hand, once again looking in the direction Drew and his gang had gone.

“I bet Drew and the others have gone over hills now”, you said, your eyes on the horizon.

“We’ll look for them tomorrow”, Raphael said, making sure the lights on his helmet weren't damaged.

“We?”, you asked, looking at him with a confused frown.

“Yes”, he answered, meeting your eyes with an unreadable expression. “We”.

“I’m sorry”, you chuckled. “But what happened to the dark and broody Nightwatcher that hated working with other people?”

“Oh he never left”, Raph said, turning the helmet in his hands. “But he still has a score to settle with the Dark Angel”.

“Is that so?”, you said, crossing your arms. “What kind of score?”

“She still hasn’t admitted that I was the winner tonight”.

You laughed. A genuine laugh that Raph never had heard from you before, his heart fluttering a little at the sound.

“Keep dreaming”, you said, smacking his arm with your mask.

“I don’t have to dream”, Raph smirked. “Because I’m right”. With those words be brought the helmet back over his head, and for a moment you wished he would keep it off. You enjoyed his brown eyes way more than those bright headlights. “See you later, Angel”.

“See you, Watcher”, you said, pulling the mask down over your face, grabbing your bow and arrow before disappearing over the rooftops while Raph went back to his motorcycle.