#I need to process shock and grief

[ichtios]

20.10.2023

guys I made very hard decision and closed almost all of my market transaction except one. It means loosing tons of money and it is hard to accept it, but it was taking my life away from me, as I was always stressing about it and loosing eating and sleeping. I left one transaction that is suppose to go up next week when google, meta, and something else will publish quarter earning reports. Also it is so low now that it shouldn’t go much lower, rather only up. I left it so I can restore some more money and give it back to my mom. I borrowed lots of money from her in hope of rescuing my funds (I had enough of my own money but it wasn’t immediately available because it is on some funds etc). But I just don’t want to fight anymore. I want to live normally. I talked about it on therapy yeasterday and I felt convinced.

i was never interested in investing in the market. This company called me hundred times and I finally broke, you know, ok I will see how it works, just leave me alone. I had money that I received after my dad died. It was so much that after I bought some stuff for home, I had no need for the rest of them so I thought it might be not so bad idea to invest it. You know, my intentions were good, I like to help people, I thought when I have more money I will be able to do more good. Sounds reasonable. BOY WAS I WRONG. Of course at the beginning everything went great. Then, first mistakes, and problems, also bad advice from that company advisor, and I was spiraling down for almost a year. The truth is that I was mostly deceived and manipulated by this investment company. I can’t really blame myself for all of it. I experienced so much stress and trauma during that year because of it that it is unbelievable. I want it to be over whatever it costs me.

i’m planning to close that last transaction next week when it reaches the level that I hope for. It is realistic goal. I think so. I hope it is a good decision. I was neglecting everything. I want to stop staring at charts and numbers all the time and get back to real work. Thank God all that I do as my job, are good things that bring joy and are helping people. I’m so glad for it now. If I worked in a company that is casually making people loose their money I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the eyes. I really appreciate my work now even if it doesn’t bring me huge wealth. I realize now how much more important is what you do than what you have on your account.

It’s ok, I still have enough money that in case, lets say, I need to replace my car, I will be able to do it. I also earn a good money and I’m self employed. I don’t have to worry that I don’t have a money for living. It is more of a psychological effect. I need to process it. It is not easy. But I think it will be easier to get over that loss than live in constant stress and tension night and day. Writing about it here is a part of processing for me. i will update next week when it is - lets really root for it - finally over. Also it would be nice if Euro go up a little bit, as it is very low now - I would also get some more money when changing to Polish Zloty.

[microcosmiclymbic]

.

[daydreamdoodles]

Good evening everyone, tonight I am plagued by the grief I woke up with this morning and a headache

[supercutszns]

a place with you; luke castellan

wc: 2.8k (got a little carried away whoops)

pairing: luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: luke is used to people coming in and out of hermes’ cabin without a second thought. so when you’re having a hard time adjusting to camp life, he doesn’t expect you to stick by his side, even after you’re claimed.

warnings/notes: shy reader going through a tough time, hurt/comfort, pining, kisses, fluff, potential ooc luke i don’t know what i’m doing, most of this is prob inaccurate lol, i got wayyy too attatched to this i am sorry, title inspired by dragon eyes by adrianne lenker

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s used to delivering, passing things along, letting them enter his life and leave him. Sometimes it makes him angry. At his father, at the world, at himself.

So when you passed through the Hermes cabin for the inevitable few weeks before getting claimed by your Godly parent, the last thing Luke expected was for you to stay.

When you first got to camp you were terrified. Luke remembers that much. He can still picture you in Chiron’s towering shadow as he led you up to Hermes cabin. He gave you the usual spiel about the cabin, the land of the unclaimed, but it clearly hadn’t quelled your nerves. You were wringing your fingers together when Luke first spotted you, your eyes blown wide in what he knew as shock and a sort of . . . grief. For a life you’d left for what Luke knows as a life you’d never really have. He’d seen it in so many campers before you. He’d see it many times after.

“This is Luke, Hermes’ head counsellor and one of Camp Half-Blood’s finest,” Chiron pointed him out to you at the entrance. After Chiron introduced you, Luke held your name in his memory. Not because there was anything particularly intriguing about you at first, to be honest, because he’d seen a lot of people like you that needed help settling in (although maybe not many his age). It was harder for some people to adjust than most. He knew that better than anyone.

“Nice to meet you,” he stuck out his hand for you to shake after Chiron left. “I’m Luke.”

You sniffed, shaking it without looking at him. You were so, so embarrassed. This whole time you’d been too stupidly overwhelmed to process anything. Why was this so hard for you? Was it this hard for everyone? “Hi,” you managed, and that was it.

Now, weeks after your first meeting, you’ve concluded that it was not, in fact, this hard for everyone. The camp is crowded but full of life. You’ve never seen more happy kids in your life. There’s a sense of community on the wind.

So why can’t you feel it? Why is it so hard to connect with people? To participate in the fun? Everywhere you look there’s people but it’s all just so . . . lonely. You don’t fit. You’re lost.

Luke wakes up at night when the cabin door creaks open. He’s already tossing, so it’s no surprise he catches it. Unfortunately, he’s supposed to be a good counsellor—sneaking out at night is against the rules, and you’ve gotta reign the strays back in before they cause a ruckus. Sure, Luke’s not exactly a stickler for the law, but the least he owes is to make sure everyone’s safe.

Groaning, he draws himself out of the comfort of his bunk but doesn’t get far when he spots a familiar silhouette slipping out the door. He knows it’s you. He’s been hearing crying at night, and this is confirming his suspicions. It makes him ache in a million different places. Every time he thought about approaching you he shut himself down almost instantly, because who the hell wants some random guy coming up to them in the middle of the night and drawing attention?

This time, though, he’s a little worried.

It’s chilly tonight but not too bad, especially when you’re huddled up in a ball on a hill in front of the lake, grass tickling your ankles. Your tears keep you warm.

It’s a sorrow that feels bottomless. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You don’t know why everything’s so hard.

There’s a scuffling of shoes, and your name is carried to you on the heels of a breeze. Oh God. There’s someone else here.

You sniff and smear your tears on the palms of your hands the best you can but a little part of you only wants to cry more now that you’re all anxious, and you only have a few seconds to collect yourself before you turn around and see Luke, your cabin leader, with furrowed brows. “Oh, h-hi, Luke.” It’s hard to ignore the splinter in your voice. You curse yourself a thousand times.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel entirely exposed. “You, uh, you know you’re not technically supposed to be out here, right?”

You start to scramble to your feet with an apology on your tongue but surprisingly he laughs, a gentle sound, and beckons you to sit back down. “No, no, I’m not gonna get you in trouble or anything, just . . . letting you know.”

It’s uncertain if you should keep sitting, but you decide to because well, you’re already down here, and things can’t go lower than this. Luke comes to sit next to you and you stare out into the sea like your life depends on it. “Wanna talk about why you’re out here?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Luke sighs, scooting a little closer to you. “Most people don’t up and leave in the middle of the night because they’re having a great time.”

The answer is too hard to say so you don’t reply.

Again, Luke sighs, and you try not to look at the shadow the moon casts on his admittedly handsome face. “It’s hard settling in, I know. It happens to a lot of people. I’ve . . . I’ve seen a lot of them, and it doesn’t get any easier.”

“Well it sure seems easier,” you snap, and your self-control flies away before you can stop it. “I have no idea why I can’t just suck it up and fit in here. Everyone seems so happy and it’s driving me nuts because I’m just so confused on why I can’t—why I can’t—process any of it.” Tears burn your eyes. “I’m just miserable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

In the corner of your view, Luke’s face falls. “I’m your guide, you know that, right? I can help you.”

You sniff, embarrassingly pathetic. “I know.”

He comes even closer. “So why didn’t you ask?”

“Because I—I don’t know, you’re busy all the time with all the people in there, so I’m sure your job’s already stressful as is, so—”

“My job is to help you,” he says, a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what I signed up for. If you need something, I’m the one to ask.”

“I’m not sure you signed up for me crying like a baby,” you swallow, the ripples of the lake blurring together. “I mean, I’m like, older than half the kids here, and they’re all so much better than me. I’m not good at a—anything, and I’ve tried it all, and nobody’s claimed me yet, and I feel so weird and old and alone and . . .” It’s too much to think about so you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, hoping the sting wards off the thoughts. “What if I’m nothing? Why am I here?”

You’re crying again, hiccuping into your hands. Shame sears into you. Luke’s arm curls around your shoulders and you realize how cold you are when he’s warm, so warm, and you want to cry even harder. You don’t even know him, but it’s the most tenderness you’ve received in what feels like years. “Hey, deep breaths,” he murmurs, rubbing your arm with his other hand. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of strength to heed him. His hand catches your cheek and you can’t bear to pull away. Something strange rustles in your stomach.

Luke’s taught instinct when faced with situations like these is to reassure that the Gods always have a plan. But he doesn’t feel like much of a liar tonight. Both his hands steady your face towards his, your skin damp and cold beneath his thumb. “It's not your fault. It always takes a little bit of time for people to get claimed, it’s never . . . well, you can never tell.”

“What if I don’t get claimed?” You say it so quiet you can pretend it was imaginary.

His eyes crinkle at the sides when he says, “Well, Hermes’ll always have a place for you.”

I’ll, Luke wants to say, I’ll. His father is not responsible for his cabin’s kindness.

“No one really prepares you for how overwhelming this is,” he continues, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek. Your vision is clearer now, and Gods, he is handsome, isn’t he? Even when his eyes are forlorn. “It’s harder in a way when you’re older. More to leave behind. Less to look forward to. It’s easier when you have a friend. Or a great cabin head.” He tilts his head with a faint smile, “Lucky for you, I’m both.”

It almost makes you laugh, and that’s enough. “It’ll get easier,” he promises softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Your cheeks burn. It’s hard to keep his gaze, so you blot at your eyes with your hands as Luke gently slides his off your face. “Thank you. Sorry for, um, all that. And the crying.”

He chuckles, “Don’t even worry about it.” You watch him rise in the throes of starlight. He offers you a hand. “Aren’t you cold?” He asks after pulling you up, and you sheepishly nod your head. He tosses you a sweater he’s been wearing, and it smells like firewood. Nostalgic, in a way. “I’m gonna poke around for some tea. Wait for me back at the cabin.”

Before he leaves, he squeezes your arm and that thing happens again in your stomach. “No need to be embarrassed, by the way. You can come to me anytime. I’m probably less busy than I look.” As he walked away, he added, “And don’t worry about the crying. You’re pretty either way.”

Either way. The tea doesn’t seem important anymore because your face is on fire.

Time reveals that Luke is right. He is a great cabin leader and a friend, and it’s hard to tell which he’s better at. You fall in with him right away. Soon enough, you’re drawn into your new life, so slowly you barely realize it’s happening. The days get shorter and you start wishing they were longer. The nights get easier. And when they’re not, Luke tucks you into his bunk and folds you in his arms until you drift off. You pick up a bow. A sword. Luke tells you to straighten your shoulders with a hand on the small of your back, and you swear it always lingers. You braid garlands of carnations for your cabin mates and they wear them with pride. It’s warm, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and things start to feel like home.

Until you’re claimed.

Now you’re a ghost in Hermes cabin, another empty bunk to be filled, and Luke stares at it until he can remember every last detail of what it looked like when it was yours. A beautiful, gentle daughter of Demeter, no longer in arms’ reach. He should’ve seen it coming.

He sees you with your siblings all the time. You’re so happy and he envies it. You belong there, he knows that, the way your face lights up at the dinner table and how you giggle when your half-sister presents you a flower. But sometimes your eyes wander, and something inside them dulls, until you look at him, too.

Luke’s place at camp is to be nothing but a funnel for lost campers to find their home. He’s a temporary stop in everybody’s journey. He’d made peace with it a long time ago. But here you are, messing it all up, because you still don’t leave him.

You beg him to give you another sword-fighting lesson. You sit next to him at bonfires. You pick him for partner camp activities. It doesn’t matter how many younger boys want to latch onto him for guidance—he sees you heading towards him, and he can’t imagine choosing anyone else.

But you’re always whisked away by your siblings, separated at meals and in sleep and in activities so it’s never, ever enough. Why did he delude himself into thinking you’d stay forever?

After weeks of distance from you, he’s elated when you have even a fraction of a conversation. “Hey, Luke!” You call out to him, and he finds you instantly. You’ve broken away from your siblings to get to him.

“Hey,” he smiles, and hopes he doesn’t look too pleased.

You lean a little towards his ear, and you smell like every wonderful thing in the world. “Can we hang out tonight? On the hill?” You’re a little bashful when you say it and it’s entirely endearing. Even now, you’re still so unsure. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he says almost instantly, and it makes you look less nervous. “Yes. Absolutely. But don’t get caught breaking curfew now, you hooligan.”

Someone calls your name and you give a curt, playful nod. “Yes sir, camp counsellor sir!” He carries your laugh close to his heart until night falls.

You’re already there when he arrives, a vision in the moonlight before he even sees your face. “Hey, angel.”

When you turn around you look flustered. He won’t pretend like it doesn’t flatter him. “H—hi, uh, hello.”

There’s a moment where the world is still. The two of you, alone, for the first time in ages.

He sits down next to you, and it’s like the first time all over again. You get to talking, about your days, your anecdotes, your cabins. The strangeness of it all. “It’s so weird waking up in the morning and not having you yapping in my ear,” you remark, and he teasingly pushes your shoulder.

“Well, one of us has to be the talker, and it’s clearly not you,” he retorts.

You fiddle with blades of grass between your fingertips, weaving them together. “I’ll have you know I had a cabin-wide conversation about Capture The Flag yesterday, and I contributed greatly.”

“Oh, really?” He grins, knocking your elbow to steal your attention. “Look at you, coming out of your shell. I’m so proud.”

It’s hard to hold his gaze for more than a second. You’re afraid you’ll do something stupid if he keeps looking at you like that, but you almost want to. “Oh, shut up.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m serious. I’m proud.” His eyes rake over your face. “You’re flourishing. You found your place.”

You can’t stop yourself from saying, “I kind of miss my old one.”

There’s a way he studies your expression that makes you feel utterly helpless. You wish you could dish it back to him, but you know you just look awestruck whenever you stare at him for so long. He’s quieter when he replies, “I miss it, too. A lot. Sometimes, I—” His face scrunches up like he just tasted something sour. “Nevermind.”

Frowning, you prod, “What? What is it?”

He sighs and turns to the horizon. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him struggle. “Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t been claimed. Sorry, that’s . . . that’s awful, I know.”

His surprise is evident when you say, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t either.”

He turns back to you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, staring at the beads on his necklace. “You’re the only reason I’ve adjusted here at all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“It’s true. And I miss you.” A few months ago you would’ve kicked yourself for saying this. But Luke has a way of inspiring confidence in people.

“I miss you, too. So much.” He gently prys the grass you’ve been weaving out of your hands, now a small necklace. “But look at how talented you are. I’ll tell you, I’m lucky you’re still sticking around. For most people, Hermes is touch-and-go.”

Luke leans forward to tie the garland around your neck, and your pulse picks up. “This isn’t about Hermes, Luke,” you try to be firm but it comes out soft. “It’s about you.”

His hands stop fiddling and rest on your neck. When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. And you have no idea that he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life. “What’s about me?”

It’s not fair, your inability to string sentences together only worsens right when a beautiful boy is this close to you. “Hermes isn’t—it’s not special because of your father, it’s special because of you.”

There is nothing else you can possibly think of saying with the way his fingers trace up your neck and hold your jaw. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “The only reason anything in my life is special is because of you.”

You don’t know if it’s a lie or not; you don’t care. His nose nudges yours. There’s a moment where you wonder if this is as close to Elysium you’ll ever get. Then he slips a hand to the back of your neck and pulls you to his mouth.

He kisses you in a near fury, then when he knows you’re not going anywhere, it’s the gentlest thing you know. It’s hard to believe this is even happening. Your hands weave through his curls but he holds you steady, and thank the Gods for that because you’re pretty sure you’re melting. You kiss again, and again, and again, until you genuinely think you’re going to pass out and you have to pull away.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs when you can’t meet his eyes, a playful lilt in his voice. “Still so nervous.”

“Would you shut up?” You press your face into the crook of his neck with a huge smile.

He kisses the top of your head. “Love to, angel.”

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s supposed to believe he’s bringing the best of humanity to the Gods and glory above.

But screw the Gods. He’s keeping this one for himself.

[autistichalsin]

So here's a very sad pattern for Halsin: he is used to putting his feelings to the side as well as dealing with everything alone.

If the Rite of Thorns completes, he says "The Rite of Thorns...? No. The grove is lost to me. To everyone. It's useless for me to stay here... there's nothing left to fight for. I will find you at your camp, and help you with your problem. Right now, I... I need to go be alone."

In the cut scenario where the player could interfere with Halsin's portal, collapsing it and dooming the Shadow-Cursed Lands: "Words won't repair what's been done to this land. Nothing will... I need to be alone" and "there is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone."

There are also lines in the goblin camp, if Kagha or all of the Druids have been killed, where Halsin indicates that he is experienced in compartmentalizing his emotions until he can feel them properly.

If Kagha dies: "Kagha... This is my fault - I was her teacher. I will mourn her when I can. But there are other matters to attend to before that."

If the Druids die and the player explains (as opposed to taunting Halsin): "Then... then it is as you say. They forgot their principles; you had no choice. I will mourn them when I can. But there are other matters to attend to before that."

It says a lot about Halsin, I think, that he is so ready to put off grieving properly when he learns his second in command or all of his Druids have died, and that he is used to the primary way for him to feel pain is alone.

He says it repeatedly, how he lost his confidantes and peers to the Shadow Curse, and they were replaced with unrelenting responsibility. It was so bad, his isolation so total that the Druids let him slip into a very dark place mentally. He mentions having grown overly fond of honey mead and nights alone (processing his grief entirely alone, and also depending on alcohol to do what human connection couldn't), and that he was so stressed he began to look fondly on his past as a sex slave, because it truly felt like a better alternative for him than what he was currently facing. He was miserable and lonely and honestly, likely very unwell mentally- and no one at his Grove intervened, leading to him having an instinctive need to do everything alone by the time you meet him. He doesn't even expect others to help him physically anymore; listen to how shocked he sounds when you save him from Orin. "You came for me... thank you."

He's so used to having to bear everyone's problems and his own too. It just breaks my heart. :(

[quixotical-lymbo]

OMG I LOVED YOU ORION PAX FIC (this bot needs more love) can you do an Orion pax x reader, but it’s the reader’s reaction to Orion falling in that hole thingy? (yk at the end of the movie that D-16 dropped him in) like does

1. the reader goes crazy and bets up D-16 ?

2. jumps in after him?

3. cries and says "HE WAS MY FUTURE"

I need to knowwwww (also take some food bc i know you cooking with your fics 🍎🥐🥯🍔🍗🍟🌯🌮) TYY

Pairing: Orion Pax/Optimus Prime x gn!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: What happens when a bot witnesses their conjunx endura die in front of their eyes?  Warnings/Tags: Transformers One SPOILERS, guard!reader, cybertronian reader, mild descriptions of violence. Word Count: 1300+ words 

The first time you met Orion Pax was a blurry moment of rushing figures and yelling. This red and blue bot had a reputation, but you didn't know his designation at the time where you first started your job as a guard. 

Well, you certainly knew all about him, especially after your first run in with the troublemaker making his grand exit through a balcony. Of course, you just had to be making your rounds flying around the perimeter of the building when you were tackled out of the sky and pinned against the rooftop of the neighboring building. Groaning as the mech on top of you sputtered a flurry of apologies. The mech ran away without even offering a servo to help you up. 

The second time the two of you met, you learned his designation from the gossip about a miner always sneaking in and out of government buildings which held old records. You connected the name to the face of the mech you ran into again when patrolling indoors. 

It was…a unique exchange of pleasantries as Orion Pax attempted to sway you out of sounding the alarm. His attempts at distracting you with those flirty glances and sweet words did nothing to stop you from cuffing him and bringing him back to his station.

Over the deca-cycle, the interactions between you two grew warmer as the forced proximity bred an intimacy between you two. 

A conjunx ritus later and the two of you were an odd couple in the optics of Iacon. 

All because you managed to 'catch' the mech of who stole your spark. 

So why couldn't you save your conjunx when he needed you the most? 

It all happened too fast for your mind to react in time, but your frame moved before you could even scream the name out of your conjunx as his battered form dropped into the pit. You rushed forward, cables feeling like they were on fire as you reached a servo out in hopes of grabbing hold of something. Yet, you were too late and Orion was swallowed by the abyss right as something grasped your arms and yanked you away from the edge. 

You struggled to throw them off of you, blurred edges of your vision and the muffled shouts of your name didn't stop you from trying to fly down there—it didn't matter whether or not your spark would extinguish in the process. All that mattered was finding Orion Pax, your best friend, your companion, your everything. 

A voice heavy with grief managed to snap you out of your haze. You glanced over to meet Elita's optics, her face twisted with a pitying look that nearly sent you over the edge–metaphorically and literally. 

"The age of primes has ended....no more false prophets, follow me and you will never again be deceived!"

Cheers broke out from the high guards scattered within the shocked crowd of Iacon's citizens. 

"I will lead us all into the future!" Megatron opened his chassis and replaced the cog in his chest with Megatronus's cog. Purple electrical sparks emitted from his frame as his body transformed into a bulkier form.

"I…am…MEGATRON!" 

"Burn it down…all of it!"

Shots fired from the crowd as Megatron began shooting at the Sentinel statue and the structures surrounding it. 

 

"He's going to kill everyone." 

"We have to stop him-" Elita-1 was cut off as your form rushed past her and headed for the silver mech. Bee and Elita-1 glanced at each other before nodding and hastening after you. 

As Megatron continued shooting his cannon, a pede slammed into the side of his helm knocking him onto his knees. Megatron whipped around to find your fist heading toward his faceplate, he dodged and managed to grab your wrist in time to swing you around like a rag doll. 

Despite having a cog all this time, your frame was still shorter compared to Megatron's—but that didn't make you any less of a fighter. 

"You took him away from me! Your own best friend!" You bellowed and wrapped your legs around his arm to twist out of his grip. You swung your body weight to shift behind him and pummel him in punches. 

"He was your friend! My conjunx…my future….mine!" You grunted as Megatron ripped you off and threw you away. You rolled onto your servos and knees before jumping aside before the energy blast could hit you. The weight of losing Orion hit you all at once as you realized you had just rolled near the place where D-16…Megatron had dropped him. Your optics dimmed as your vision blurred from the rising dust and smoke. Your helm dropped and you couldn't see the massive cannon pointing at your pathetic form. 

"I took down the only thing standing in my way," Megatron sneered. The purr of his weapon charging up became a roar as the light within readied to snuff your spark. "And now? I will make sure you join him along with the rest who stand against me." 

"Not if we have anything to do about that!" Elita-1 charged in and snatched the cannon in time to redirect the shot elsewhere. 

A fight ensued and a multitude of thoughts ran through your processor. Your distraught and grief melded your frame into the floor. The noises and smell of destruction around you all blurred into one as you curled into a ball, wishing to disappear into the same abyss your conjunx had dropped in. 

After all, why continue this seemingly never ending cycle of injustice without the bot who made life worth living? 

No, Orion wouldn't have wanted you to think that way. Nor would have sat there wallowing in his own misery if your spark had stopped beating. He would've fought for you and you…will do the same.

Slamming your clenched servos into the ground you shot up and barreled toward the fight. Snarling as you drew closer and pounced onto Megatron just as he kicked Bee away. Before anyone on the tower could react, something exploded a piece of it and shot up into the sky. 

 

Amidst the chaos, you, Bee, and Elita-1 slid off the dome and landed on the lower platform again. 

Snapping your gaze up you found an familiar yet strange mech donning a similar color scheme to Orion standing before Megatron. 

 

"It can't be…" Bee began.

"It is." Elita-1 finished with wide optics. 

"Orion?" You whispered. 

 

He was alive. Alive. 

 

He was…different. 

 

…he wasn't dead and that's the important part. 

When all was said and done, Megatron was banished from Iacon and Energon returned to Cybertron, cogs being returned to the cogless citizens, you were finally able to have a moment alone with your conjunx now named Optimus Prime. 

His optics shone brightly as they landed on your faceplate. He turned to you fully and stretched his arm to reach you. You eagerly leaned into the palm of his servo, cheek pressing against the warmth of his hold on you. The faint hum of his spark calmed the raging storm within you, allowing your tense cables to ease up. 

"You've…changed." You sighed as you blinked back the liquid in your optics. 

"...so have you," Optimus craned his helm down to hold your gaze. "Come, we have a lot of things to discuss." 

You interlocked your digits with his, reluctant to drift away from him, but his softening gaze and even softer words persuaded you to let go. 

Trailing after the three but sticking close to Optimus's side, you nearly tripped over your own pedes as you felt the weight of his love through the bond. Keeping your expression neutral, you smiled inwardly and returned his affections tenfold. 

Primus, you were happy he was alive. 

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. banner(s) by @enchanthings !!

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

After a few weeks, you’re forced to acknowledge you were wrong about Coriolanus.

His mere presence assuages your hurt, and none of his actions bear a hint of impropriety.

He’s simply being a friend, comforting you and supporting you in a time of need.

His visits grow more frequent. 

You’re amazed he even finds time between the University and his apprenticeship with Dr. Gaul. Still, Coryo never misses tea time with you, sometimes even bringing books and sweets. You’re thankful for the time he spends doting on you, even if you hate keeping him from his studies. You know how eager to succeed he’s always been. 

But you can’t deny you missed the feeling of having a brother, of having this person who cares for you, looks out for you and protects you unconditionally. 

And while you’re aware Coriolanus isn’t your actual brother, having him besides you helps alleviate the weight of grief and loneliness. Being with him makes you feel closer to Janus. You’re also solaced by the knowledge it’s what your departed brother would have wanted.

There is one person however who isn’t too keen on the rekindled bond between you and Coriolanus Snow.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” William notes, tracing the lines in your palm.

You’re both lying on the couch in the sunroom, your back against William’s chest, fingers interlaced with his. Sunlight spills from the stained glass in the ceiling, painting your fiancé’s brown curls in bronze hues. 

This is a moment of tranquility you’ve longed for, a sliver of calm amidst the storm and chaos wedding planning has turned out to be. You reckoned it’d be easier than it has been. Instead, it seems nothing ever goes right. Between incidents with the cake, your wedding dress somehow being lost by the store, and the venue perpetually being booked…you’ve grown disheartened and exhausted by the entire process.

It’s almost like some higher force is trying to prevent you marrying William. It’s ludicrous, of course. But the ceaseless string of bad luck is beginning to drain your hope that your wedding will happen before the year ends. 

You and William even had to push back the date. There was no choice as hurdles kept emerging.

So you bask in your fiancé’s presence, soaking his warmth and familiar smell, reminding yourself why you’re going through so much trouble. Marrying William is worth it.

“Yeah. He’s my friend,” you state casually. 

“Your friend. Baby…” There’s a brief pause during which William appears deep in thought. When he speaks again, it’s with a softer tone. “At the risk of sounding jealous, the way he’s looking at you…are you sure that he knows that?”

His words make you sit up straight. 

“William,” you admonish, taken aback by his preposterous insinuation. 

Coriolanus’ a gentleman. He hasn’t made any moves towards you and he wouldn’t. Sejanus trusted him and you trust him too.

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs.

“I’m just saying. We’re getting married soon, and everything’s been so…tumultuous. I just want to make sure that you won’t…”

You search his forest gaze. Shock fills you at the doubts you find lurking there.

“That I won’t what?” You give a light punch to his chest. “Get cold feet? William, are you mad?”

His shoulders slump. “I know your parents wish I was from a great house like him.”

William looks away and you put your hands on his face, drawing his focus back to you.

“It doesn’t matter what my parents think. I love you.”

He smiles, that beautiful sunny smile that blows a warm breeze through your chest every time.

He grabs your hands and kisses them.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

“William, you’re good and kind and caring. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You hold his eyes. “He’s just a friend, I promise you. You…You’re my future.”

William studies you, love and devotion illuminating his features. His lips then collide with yours. He nudges you down on the plush beige upholstery, humming low in his throat.

When his hands find their way below your skirt, you push against his chest.

He immediately stops.

Your hot, rapid exhales mingle as you steady your breath. 

“You know I’d rather we wait for our wedding night,” you mutter apologetically. It’s not the first time things got hot and heavy between you and William and you slowed them down. You know how frustrating it has to be for him and you commend his patience. “ I know it’s old-fashioned but I…”

He quiets you with a tender kiss on the forehead.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, holding hands with you. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I got carried away.” Pink dusts his cheeks as he adds, “You just smell so good and you’re so beautiful.”

A smile breaks across your face. “You’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy.”

He tilts his head and laughs. 

“How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you talk to me like that?” He bites his lip, his lids dipping to half-mast. “Can I at least get another kiss?” he whispers suavely.

“Hm, we’ll see about that…” you mumble, closing your own eyes.

“Apologies, hope I’m not  interrupting anything?”

Coriolanus’ sharp inflection shatters the spell, making you leap away from William.

Heat nestles in your cheeks as you rise to your feet, hastily smoothing the wrinkles in your dress. Your fiancé clears his throat and runs a hand through his tousled locks.

“No, we’re…William was leaving,” you stammer, struggling to meet Coriolanus’ stark blue gaze.

William’s brows squeeze together at that. But you shoot him a glare that pulls a deep sigh from him. He nods and pulls you to him one more time. 

He kisses you but you note it lasts much longer than usual, his fingers curling around your waist possessively.

Embarrassment flares inside you that this is happening right in front of your friend.

When he releases you, you’re breathless.

“Coriolanus,” William greets stiffly as he brushes past the blond.

“William,”Coriolanus replies, his tone somehow icier.

Once your fiancé has left, a weary exhale floats from your mouth.

“I don’t understand why you two can’t just get along. You both matter to me.”

Coriolanus smirks. “Oh, princess. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?” you inquire, blinking up at him curiously.

His tight-lipped smile expands as he gauges you. 

“Nothing.”

You scrunch your nose, displeased by his answer. He’s always so cryptic. A chuckle peels from his lips at your sour expression. His knuckles sweep over your cheek.

“There should never be a frown on such a pretty face.” He digs inside his satchel before retrieving a slim, leather-bound book. He places it in your hands as you gape at him, puzzled.

“Here, I brought you this. This will cheer you up.”

You examine the book. Surprise mingles with elation when you notice the words on the cover. The engraved letters spell out a familiar title. It’s one of your favorite books from when you were younger. It bewilders you that he even remembers. As if no time has passed.

“Oh my god! How did you…” An excited squeal leaves you. Then your voice lulls to a whisper. “It’s a first edition, Coryo.”

“It was printed and bound before the war,” he explains. “It wasn’t easy to dig up.”

Your brows rise. “An antique. You shouldn’t have.” You cradle the book against your chest. “You’re too good to me.”

His mouth quirks lopsidedly.

“Anything for you, princess.”

You both sit down for tea, cakes and macaroons. Time flies as you chat about everything and nothing with your friend. As always, you do most of the talking as he dutifully listens, only interjecting to ask you to elaborate on a particular point. 

No matter what you jabber on about, his interest never appears to wane.

You eventually land on the matter of your wedding planning. You share all the troubles you and William have had and Coriolanus hums in response.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” He sips from his cup of Earl Grey. “How…unfortunate.” 

He then pauses, seeming to ponder something. “I have a proposition.”

Your brow arches in question.

“Clemmie is throwing a party tonight. Let me take you, get your mind off of all this.”

Your lips part. Clemensia? A party? None of it sounds enticing to you.

“I’m not sure…” you trail off, your eyes finding the floor.

“What better way to cheer you up than a party, princess?” Coriolanus’ voice mellows as he adds, “You can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

Words falter on your tongue as your eyes swell with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern oozing from his gentle tone.

You shake your head.

“You’re crying,” he insists, reaching over the table to lift your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says sternly. “Talk to me.”

His unwavering  inflection nudges you to admit, “I’m just scared.”

“What are you scared of, princess?”

You suck in a shaky breath.

“Every part of this house, every nook and cranny carries a memory I have with Janus.” You glance about the sunroom. Here alone you can count so many hiding spots from games you and your brother played when you were kids. “It’s easy, keeping him close here. It’s just that…”

“You’re scared to move on,” Coriolanus finishes for you. His thumb glides over your cheek, collecting a tear you didn’t realize had spilled over. “But you have to.”

“Sejanus wouldn’t want you to wilt away in this house like one of your roses.”

You mull over his words. You suppose he’s right but you’re still not convinced. Parties like the kind Clemensia is fond of hosting aren’t exactly your scene. 

A lame excuse flows from your lips.

“I don’t even know what to wear.”

“Then I’ll choose for you,” he replies without hesitation.

“What?”

“Let’s go to your room.”

Before you can protest, he seizes your hand and drags you upstairs.

“Wait, Coryo…”

He ignores you, making his way to your room with brisk strides you can barely maintain pace with. Once he’s there, he rummages through your closet. You let him do it, half-skeptical, half-jaded. Most of these garments weren’t picked by you anyway, but by your mother based on whatever fashion trend raged in the Capitol at the time. And those trends change every other season. You since long gave up on trying to keep abreast of them.

“Hm, this one is perfect,” he announces, drawing a red number from the closet.

You gape at the dress he chose. It’s a slip satin dress the color of blood. The waist is cinched with a thin belt and the lace sleeves, adorned with embroidered flowers, flow elegantly.

It’s beautiful, radiating a timeless elegance…but the neckline is low, displaying more cleavage than you’re used to. 

Your cheeks warm. “Are you sure?”

“Just trust me. Try it.”

Your eyes bulge but you relent, something about his tone curbing your impulse to argue. “Okay,” you quaver.

Trying not to squirm beneath his intense stare, you grab the dress from him and slip behind the wooden divider screen.

Chewing on your lip, you peek above the folding screen.

“Maybe you could…get out while I change?” you suggest while fumbling with the lace strings of your day dress.

Coriolanus casually sits on your bed, his crimson coat pooling around him. He leans back and spreads his large hands over your bed sheets. A small smile dances along his pink lips.

“I won’t look, I promise. Don’t you trust me, princess?”

“I do but…”

“But what?” he challenges, cocking his head in question.

Stumped, you come up short of a decent answer. “Nothing,” you mumble.

You shed your clothes quickly to try on the red dress. The whole time, you can feel the weight of Coriolanus’ unnerving scrutiny on the other side of the wooden screen.

He gives you a sluggish onceover when you step out from behind the screen. Your skin prickles as you shake.

“Hm nice, twirl for me.”

His blue eyes sparkle when you do as he says. He gets to his feet. He slowly strolls towards you.

Once he’s in front of you, he also arranges a few wisps of your hair in a way that he likes.

“Gorgeous,” he lauds when he’s done. 

He tilts your chin up, his gaze corralling yours.

“See? All you have to do is to trust me, princess.” His deep voice dips to dulcet tones. “Just trust me and, I promise you, everything will work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”

“You came,” Coriolanus points out, that signature smirk of his adorning his lips.

“I promised I would,” you defend.

He snorts. “I’m glad. Saves me the trouble of having to drag you here myself, princess.”

Nervous laughter peals from your lips at his strange joke and the intent way his eyes rest on you. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, drinking in the sight of you in the crimson dress. The very same one he picked himself.

He then loops your arm around his, bending near your ear to whisper,

“Let's re-introduce you to everyone.”

You look around yourself, curious as you’ve never been to Clemensia’s house. The atmosphere is more intimate than you expected. The only source of dim light in the Dovecote’s sumptuous living room emanates from candelabras scattered all about, the wobbly candlelight casting twisting shadows over the damask walls. The crackle of the logs burning in the gigantic fireplace mingles with the soft piano tune filling the living room. 

“Coriolanus, did you bring a ghost to my party?” Clemensia jests when she sees you. Her expression then turns serious as she studies you. To your utter surprise, she wraps her arms around you and hugs you. You freeze, too stunned to return the gesture. The two of you were never close, the opposite in fact. It all stemmed from the way she and her friends ostracized you and your brother in school. Maybe it’s all water under the bridge now that you’re older. “Oh, you poor thing,” she laments. “I’m here for whatever you need, okay?”

You nod stiffly. “O-Okay.”

Coriolanus hardly conceals his amusement at the interaction, mirth swaying in his cobalt orbs. 

He and Clemensia keep introducing you to people. Some you recognize; some you don’t. 

It makes you realize how much you missed. 

After a while, faces blend into each other. You end up nodding and smiling to most of the small talk, your attention span dwindling by the minute.

Eventually, you decide to retreat to the bar to take a break. The barkeep nudges a drink your way and you thank him quietly. You swirl it in your hand, your thoughts drifting. Maybe this is what a return to normalcy must feel like. Slightly strange and overwhelming.

You gasp as Coriolanus appears at your side. “Are you alright, princess? Too much?”

Your startled reaction draws a chuckle from him.

A slow exhale drops from your chest. 

“A little,” you confess. “But…I’m glad you took me. A change of scenery is nice.”

It occurs to you that you haven’t had time to wallow in your sadness, too caught in conversation with other people. However frivolous the topics, it did keep your mind off of things. No thoughts of dead brothers have crossed your mind tonight.

It might not be much but it’s a start, you suppose.

Coriolanus’ brow curves teasingly. “See? This is why you should trust me.”

“Don’t push it, Snow. You’re on thin ice.”

A laugh bursts from his chest but, as he peers down at your drink, all humor vanishes from his face. He swipes it from you and sniffs it. 

“Hm, what’s wrong?”

A frown puckers his forehead. 

“Who served you this drink?” he rumbles.

You shrug. “I don’t know. It was just…brought to me.”

“There’s something in it.”

“What?” Ice spills in your veins. “Oh my god.”

Your mind whirls as you peek at your surroundings, paranoia creeping in. You wonder who could have done this and why. Just to mess with you? Or maybe even worse…

Your gut sinks. Thank god Coryo put a stop to whatever awful thing could have happened to you.

He puts his hand on your arm reassuringly. “I’ll bring you a clean one.”

“T-Thanks,” you stutter. “Just nothing with alcohol in it, please.”

“Of course.”

He returns with a brand new drink in a jiffy. 

“Thanks for looking out for me,” you beam before taking a sip. You were starting to get a little parched.

“Always, princess.” He grins at you while you take another sip.

A wave of queasiness suddenly hits you. 

The room starts to spin around you, blurring into crooked shapes and colors. You try to stand but your knees buckle instantly.

If it weren’t for Coriolanus swiftly catching you you’d be a heap on the floor.

“Coryo…I’m not feeling so good,” you slur, struggling to speak. Cotton seems to fill your mouth, the mere act of forming words demanding great effort.

“It’s okay, lean on me,” he says, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Head…heavy.”

“You’re alright. Just hold on to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

In a daze, you stagger along as he escorts you through a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs. You grow so weak that you slump against him. With ease, Coriolanus hoists you in his arms, carrying you bridal style the rest of the way.

You fall onto something heavenly soft that sinks under your weight. Like fluffy clouds. 

Your thoughts collapse, muddy and haphazard as you blink up at the ceiling. An antique chandelier hangs from it.

“You just need a little bit of rest.”

Coriolanus’s voice is warped, disembodied almost.

“Rest…” you echo.

But as soon as your eyes begin to close, the feeling of your dress hiking upwards tugs you back to consciousness. 

Befuddled, you look down. You’re welcomed by the sight of Coriolanus wedged between your parted legs, hands clasped around your thighs. His waistcoat and white blouse are gone, exposing his pale, broad chest. 

“Coryo, what is happening-”

His soft lips cover yours, stifling your protests. His tall frame pins yours to the bed. He purrs against your lips, framing your jaw when you feebly pivot your head to the side. 

When his lips free yours, your mouth still tingles with the forcefulness of his bruising kiss. 

He returns to the space between your thighs. 

You lie back, your bones like jelly, as you feel the delicate material of your panties sliding down your legs. 

Your brows twitch. “Coryo…”

His blue eyes glow strangely in the darkness. A chill slithers through your core. 

“Shh, don’t worry about it, princess, just sleep.”

You want to move. You feel you have to. But you can’t. 

“I…”

The syllable dies in a sharp gasp as Coriolanus’ cool tongue drags down your slit. Long fingers spreading you open, he traces wet circles around your bundle of nerves. He rasps against your center and the vibrations rock through your core. Your breath hitches. Your chest tightens. Heat builds in your stomach as he makes you dangle off the cliff of pleasure. He soon adds a finger and you cry out.

Coriolanus pumps in and out of you, gauging your expression as he grazes a particular spot that has your toes flexing. You writhe over the sheets, eyes blindly rising to the ceiling. 

You clench around his finger, your cunt clinging to him reflexively.

He sinks a second digit inside you and you whine, back arching at the abrupt stretch.

Short, chaotic breaths rush through your lungs as he works you open. His slow, meticulous drags have your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Your legs quake as the coils in your belly grow unbearably tight and hot.

He stops as you’re on the cusp of your undoing. Your boneless frame sags onto the sheets.

He leans back and you hear the rustle of his pants coming undone. You get a faint sense of wrong trying to pierce through the haziness, but you can’t grasp at it.

Still, your fingers stretch towards the edge of the bed, your body rolling to the side. The meek attempt is interrupted as Coriolanus yanks you back onto the sheets, snatching your wrists and pinning them above your head. His frame drapes over yours. The scent of roses coats your senses.

“We’re not done, princess,” he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your face.

A painful pressure starts prodding your entrance. He grunts, hovering above you as he pushes past your tight ring of muscles. 

You feel as if you’ll tear as more of him buries inside you. Every second is agony, your core burning at the blunt intrusion.

A sigh of pleasure floats from his mouth when he reaches the hilt of you. He stays there a while, seeming to bask in the feeling of you around him. 

When he starts to move, your eyes flutter open. He sets a steady pace right away, thrusting inside you as if his life depended on it. Wordless screams rip from your throat. He releases your wrists, his long fingers latching onto your waist instead. 

Each of his slow, deep thrusts sparks warm tingles through your body.

Sweat collects between his brows as he grunts in pleasure.

“I knew you’d feel just perfect around me,” he rasps, delighted. 

His cadence quickens, his hand digging bruising grooves over your hip. Choked moans spill from your throat. His other hand crawls beneath the thin satin of your dress, fondling your breast and flicking your pebbled nipple. His hands feel everywhere at once and that sense of wrong rolls over you again.

“Ever since I saw you in this dress, I’ve been dying to fuck you in it,” he confesses, lust bleeding in his fevered tone. 

The mattress squeaks as he relentlessly rams into you.

A uniquely sharp thrust has your slick walls tighten around him. His cock stirs, a throaty moan pouring from his chest.

The repeated friction against your soft spots has you seeing stars.

A feral glint bounces in his blue eyes as he admires your panting form, lost in the throes of pleasure. Strangled shouts escape you as another wave of pleasure crashes over your frame.

His pace slows, sloppier than before as his cock twitches between your walls. His eyes roll back as he sighs, tension draining from his muscular frame. Hot ropes spill inside you, overflowing until you feel the warmth dripping along your thighs.

Your mouth wobbles, silent tears streaming down your face.

Coriolanus cradles your face, kissing away each of your tears with tender brushes of his lips.

“Shh, don’t cry,’ he mumbles. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.” His cock stiffens inside you once more. He lifts you and snaps his hips viciously into yours, drawing a broken whimper as he bottoms out. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips when he begins to move inside you. Helplessly, you lie back as he takes you again.

“I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.”

[lilia-calderus-pet-goat]

In case you forgot just how impressive the acting is in episode seven of agatha all along, let me take you back again.

Lilia is five hundred years old. Four hundred and fifty? Maybe. When we first meet her, she may be kooky, and she may be strange, and forgetful, but she doesn't immediately seem vulnerable, or lost. She's a grown woman, damn it—and a fraud, a liar. She's toughened with the passage of time in her unique isolation.

And in the next episodes, we see her sweeten here and there—and we see more vulnerable moments—but she still stands on her own two legs. In her dynamic with Rio, for example, or whoever else, she exhibits the 'no bullshit' attitude of her maestra. She's softer, of course, more empathetic, less cynical—like in Alice's trial, where she's posed much like s comforting grandma. But even then, she is a grandma. She is the one who does the comforting, or the one who disapprovingly shakes her head at you and judges your life choices.

But when she talks to her Maestra?

Lilia is a little girl. She's childish.

In no other scenario does Lilia speak with herself center-stage. She always thinks of others first, even in her own trial.

But when she talks to her maestra, she acts like a wounded child, a wounded fawn, who can only focus on her own pain. Who has not yet developed mechanisms for processing her emotions—and who just wants—needs—her mother. And she speaks, and she says things she shouldn't say, floods her maestra with her own grief, overwhelms her with information that Lilia has known as fact for hundreds of years, but for her maestra—it's her first time hearing it. Because the little Lilia on the chair is having her first divination lesson. She hasn't predicted the fever yet. But Lilia can't think of that right now—she's overwhelmed, she's hurting, she's visiting her maternal figure after centuries—and so she's snappy and impatient and vulnerable like a child.

And her maestra knows she can't help it. And she knows that right now, she's needed by her child who is hurting. Who has been hurting—so much fear, even now. She must swallow the shocking piece of information that she and her covenmates, her sisters, her students, her children, will be wiped out by a terrible fever—treat it like a given fact, because she's not the focus right now. Because she needs to be a guiding light for Lilia, even centuries later, because she needs her. Centuries later, she needs her. And she's a tough woman, a no-bullshit woman. She's a thick-skinned, old, Sicilian witch, much reminiscent of my own greek grandparents—those who have lived through so much and so nothing affects them, really. Because 'back in their day' they had 'more serious issues,' like war and famine and plague. This woman lived through the dark ages. And she delivers. She's nonchalant. 'Death comes for us all' - It means, this isn't about me. I have to brush it off.

But I still have to wonder where within her she proceeded to bury that piece of information about her own coven's untimely demise. Not only to focus on future Lilia, but also, later, to keep little Lilia calm and focused. To—knowing all the suffering she'll be going through and the state in which she'll visit centuries later—keep her innocent for just a little time longer. Give her time. Until eventually, she predicts the fever herself.

And how beautiful is it that, after all this time, she sought help in her maestra—?

How beautiful is it that—for the second time—Agatha Harkness is saved by a woman whose empathy was bred by a mother's unconditional love? A woman who sacrificed herself just when she found herself, for no other reason than the fact her mother never stopped putting her first, so now, it was her turn to do the the same for her family—?

[queenie-the-court-jester]

HII, saw your post on wanting asks, well here 🫶 I love talking so, and specifically on playboy yandere!! I'm a sucker for angst and yanderes falling into insanity honestly, so let me ramble a bit

- imagine if reader graduates highschool and gets an overseas scholarships!! They also convince their family to move together with them so Kameron can't hurt or use them to blackmail reader. So with only a break up text saying like "bye manwhore 😍😍", blocking and deleting all their social media, I wonder how long and how far would he take to get reader back again? Would he inherit his parent's riches, hire some private investigatiors to find reader and find the country they're living in, expand his business over to their country in order to gain power to trap his darling. And I wonder how deranged his reaction would be to reader's text and be like no way, they're joking right, and runs to their house and whatever usual spots they're at normally, and just break down into insanity. would he try to use substitutes for reader to maintain his sanity or go fully devoid of emotions and start working hard to gain power and influence to find reader again!! I'm also curious how he would process his darling leaving him, would he become delusional first, saying they got kidnapped or something, or some ex or fling of his hurt reader, and then proceed to anger, depression, grief and then finally accept the reality!!

Ok that's a lot of rambling 😭😭 hope it's okay. I rlly enjoyed that fic, was rent FREE in my mind for a whole day

you know luci, you just gave me an idea. So have a part TWO of THIS DUMBASS HOE 🤝

Yandere playboy x reader

Tw: mentions of murder, kameron being delulu, yandere and obsessive behavior

💋kameron was having another breakdown. Sobbing pathetically on the floor of your old bedroom. Just how did you run away? And on such short notice too!? Didn't his love mean anything to you!? WHY DID YOU ABANDON HIM?

💋a million thoughts swirled through his head, until he finally got one that just... stuck. He had to get you back. No matter how long it takes. Getting up and dusting himself off, he kicked the front door open and quickly left the empty house

💋it was a shame really. The once sane and popular boy was struggling to keep his image. So he got help. Not professional as in therapists and medication. Just hiring other students to cover for him Incase he slipped up. all while snooping through the head teachers computer to see if they had any notes on where you might have gone. He almost got caught a few times

"shit that was close.. i can't believe these idiots leave their passwords just anywhere"

💋he knew he shouldn't be back at the school, especially since he graduated but he needs all the information he can get. Eventually moving onto private investigators and online stalking through multiple other accounts. He'd try anything just to see what his darling was doing without him. Were you enjoying making him suffer? You're so cruel..

💋hiring other people to befriend you and lower your guard, gathering any Information they can

💋 kameron who spent a while convincing his parents to let him take hold of the company. He had a degree, a bright mind, responsibility. He's perfect for the job! Oh if only they knew where his 60% was going.. funding multiple businesses across the world in exchange for keeping a careful eye. Making him quite the celebrity

💋look darling! He's on the news-! ...oh right you're not here.. one evening, while working in his office, a new secretary comes in to introduce themselves. They look just like you! He could only stare in shock.

"my love..? Is that you!?"

"..who?"

💋turns out it was just a doppelganger. But with enough time he'd delude himself into thinking it was you. Courting them with the same flowers, chocolates and jewelry he'd given you. It worked like a charm! Now you were back In their arms again. They felt whole..

💋he married your lookalike a year later, the poor fool being too naive and oblivious to think. He was happy for awhile.. or until one of his P.I's came in to show him they found you. His reality started to break.

💋no.. how could he do this to you. Replacing you with some cheap street whore. That night, when they went to bed, he gave them a cup of water and smiled sweetly. Watching as their face went red and they started to cough for air after gulping it down. Clawing at the sheets and staring at him with wide fearful eyes. Begging him to help them

"...slut."

💋 burrying the body in his backyard, he paid people with underground connections to cover for him while he was away. Claiming they suddenly vanished, having run away with a small fortune. How idiotic are people, to actually believe him..

💋kameron disguised himself and went straight for the country you decided to flee too. 5 years apart from you.. he had no idea how he managed to live so long without his beloved, but it was all worth it. Because now you'll be back where you belong. In his arms.

💋you were busy working at your job, running a small business was no joke but atleast the people in the area were friendly. So you didn't notice the suited figure Infront of your cash register

"thank you, please come again-"

💋you froze, looking up at the terrifyingly familiar face. He stared back at you with only glee and love

"hello my darling~ you've been on a naughty streak for a while Haven't you? That's okay, I'll just set you straight when we go back home."

💋big burly men all blocked you from escaping by guarding the doors. Dragging all the other customers out so you both could have your moment. Now you could never leaver leave him. Ever.

[thisisasupergoodidea]

last weekend, only a few weeks before what would have been her 9th birthday, sagittarius' health took a sudden and sharp decline, one that she had little hope of recovering from. i made the excruciating choice to give her a peaceful end at the vet and now she is laid to rest in my backyard.

thank you for many years of companionship, my beautiful little friend. rest well.

We have a kitten now. I didn’t want to say anything about it when we first got her because A: our neighbor basically dumped this stray on us and we didn’t know if she had some horrible illness and B: life was stressing me out so much and then all of a sudden i had to take care of a cat so tiny that it couldnt even poop without assistance.

But here we are today! Her name is Sagittarius because Sagittarius A* is a supermassive black hole at the center of the Milky Way galaxy, and she attacks her food bowl so violently that she might as well have a supermassive black hole for a stomach. She is now about 2 and a half months old.

My other cat, Tarzan, is ultra salty about her presence. The vet told us not to introduce them just yet, so we haven’t had any actual drama, but Tarzan still gets pissy when my clothes smell like the kitten.

[sabyfangirl]

Stay With Me

Summary:

Let's just say that sometimes, when you're having an atrocious night, you need that special someone to be there for you...

“Chris!” Martin called for his brother. “Chris?!”

He was nowhere to be found.

Martin was running through a forest, unlike any other forest he’d ventured in before. He dodged branches, jumped over fallen tree trunks... It seemed as though the trail would never end.

The sun was shining through the tree leaves, making his surroundings all but beautiful. Yet, it all felt so... ominous.

Finally, he slowed to a stop. He thought he had caught a familiar shade of green from the corner of his eye.

Maybe even a hint of red.

He backed up and went to take a look.

…

His face dropped at the sight of his brother lying unmoving on the ground, like a marionette with no puppeteer.

“CHRIS!!!” Martin cried out as he dropped to his knees.

He quickly held his little brother in his lap, and nearly screamed at the sight of blood covering his abdomen. It didn’t take long before his shirt got stained, though it was the least of his worries at the moment as he was too busy trying to put pressure on the wound.

Chris gave a faint whimper. His eyes were closed, almost in a lifeless way…

With a bloody, shaky hand, Martin felt his brother’s pulse: it was weak. Nearly non-existent.

“No, no, no- ” In a wave of panic, Martin held his brother’s face close to his. “Chris, look at me. Look at me, I’m right here!” He begged him as he swiftly brushed his brother’s hair back. He held his hand tight, heavy tears forming in his eyes.

Only two barely audible coughs came out.

“Y-You’re gonna be just fine, I-I promise!” his voice cracked hard.

What even happened? Was it a wild animal?!

“M-Martin…”

Martin gasped softly hearing his brother’s frail voice.

With the little strength he had left, Chris forced his eyes half-open, barely . He was terrifyingly pale; he had lost a lot of blood…

He met his brother’s tormented gaze and, without a word, he simply smiled bittersweetly.

Martin’s eyes grew wide.

No. This couldn’t be happening .

“Chris…” Martin shook his head, his little brother still smiling at him. “Don’t do this to me.”

Chris’ eyes began to close, his hand gradually losing grip on his brother’s.

“Chris?”

Finally, his fingers were resting on the edges of his brother’s palm.

Martin was left staring at his little brother’s lifeless face, eyes wide from shocked despair.

“Christopher…” A pained cry escaped his chest. “Don’t do this to me, bro. Come on…” He gave his body a vain shake. “No, no…” His voice was feeble, nearly broken.

With trembling hands, Martin slowly cupped his little brother’s bloody face. His poor, precious little brother . His tears began to pour down harder than they ever did. He gasped silently as he buried his brother’s numb face in his shoulder. He soothingly ran his hand through his hair, his lips pressed against his forehead. His glassy eyes wandered into nothingness as he painfully processed the fact that he was no longer there, no longer with him.

“No, no, no… Please. Please, don’t do this.”

Eventually, his sobs became louder and interminable, tightly hugging his dear little brother’s limp body in his arms, his tears falling onto his hair.

“ Oh, God. ”

He could already feel the crushing weight of grief pushing down on him, life seeming to have lost all meaning all of a sudden.

“Please, God. No…”

What would he do without him?!

His companion. His best friend.

The world around him began to spin, his tears blinding him from looking at his brother’s face. Then-

“AH!”

Martin’s head was pounding. His entire body was soaked with sweat. He was gasping for air, clenching his chest hard. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest any moment. Tears were stinging his eyes and staining his face. Heavily disoriented, he couldn’t even make out where he was, and the darkness in the room didn’t help much.

“Martin?”

He suddenly heard him, his eyes growing wide in the dark. That voice .

As he looked to the side, Martin found a pair of brown eyes glowing in the dark. He wanted to say something, but it almost felt like his voice had been stolen. He was paralyzed .

He sensed someone getting out of bed on the other side of the room.

Click .

A night lamp was turned on.

Chris, who looked very much alive , went over to check on his brother. As he sat on the side of his bed, Martin’s eyes remained fixated on his brother’s visage.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chris asked with concern, as his brother only stared at him like he was a ghost. “Martin, you’re kind of freaking me out,” his voice cracked a little.

Martin was pale as a sheet. His eyes scanned Chris’ abdomen: no blood.

At that moment, the image of his brother’s blood-covered body flashed before his eyes.

“ AHH! ” he let out a loud, panicked CRY .

“Martin!” Chris immediately tried to calm him down.

Martin kept screaming, hot tears flowing down his face.

“HEY! Hey, I’m here. You’re okay. Breathe. Breathe.” Chris held his brother’s hands tight, trying to look into his eyes.

“I-I can’t! I can’t!” Martin was practically gasping for air.

“I’m right here, shh…” Chris slowly leaned in for a hug. He gently rocked him back and forth, just like Martin always does to him when he’s in distress.

It took a while, but Martin finally started to calm down a bit, his eyes now bloodshot from all his tears. He held onto his little brother as if the whole world was about to fall apart.

It was a miracle that none of the crew members had woken up so far. (Although Jimmy could be cast aside for that.) It had been a long day, after all.

Chris subconsciously slid into bed, his brother’s arms locked around him as though he was a treasured possession.

In a way, he was .

Chris tried to get his brother to lie down. He could hear his heart pounding hard; he frowned. His brother’s tears had really soaked his hair. Nonetheless, he didn’t mind. The bed was shaking from his brother’s agitation.

Several minutes later, Martin let out a prolonged, heavy and shaky sigh. He sniffled as he wiped his face in his pillow before taking a deep breath.

“Sorry- I-I’m so sorry- ” his voice was terribly raspy.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Chris rubbed his back comfortingly. “I’ll go get you some water.”

As soon as he shifted to get up, Martin instinctively locked his hand on his brother’s wrist like a handcuff.

“ NO! ”

Chris nearly jumped at his reaction. He looked down at his brother’s pleading eyes, his hand tightening on his wrist so hard that he winced from the pain.

“Martin?” Chris’ brows furrowed.

“S-Stay with me,” Martin begged.

Reading his brother’s eyes, Chris understood. “Okay, then. I’ll help you get to the main room and grab a glass of water,” he suggested with a tender tone.

Martin scanned his brother’s eyes deeply, and with the soreness in his throat, it was all enough to convince him. He gave a small, quivery nod.

Carefully, Chris reached out two hands, one to hold his brother’s, and the other wrapped around him for stability.

Martin’s knees were trembling so hard, doing an incredible job at making the trip from the brothers’ room to the main room a challenge of its own. He felt weak, so close to just collapsing onto the floor right then and there. Despite the fact that his brother was heavier than him, Chris was determined to support his weight as much as he could.

When they made it to the main room, Chris led his brother to the center table where he could rest while he went over to the sink to fill him up a glass of water.

That small, insignificant distance between the sink and where Martin was sitting were enough to make him dreadful to the core. He couldn’t even swallow anymore. His shoulders were tense. He kept his drowsy eyes on his little brother, refusing to even blink , fearing that in that minuscule fraction of time, he would just vanish into thin air.

He watched as Chris brought him a glass full of refreshing water before sitting next to him. It took him a few seconds before having a good hold of the glass; his hands were still a bit shaky. But the cool liquid was all but soothing for his throat, making that small “trip” all worth it.

Putting the glass down, Martin sighed heavily. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Chris put a hand on his shoulder and, thanks to the bit of moonlight shining through the rooftop, Martin was able to see his smile. A smile he wouldn’t trade for the whole world.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Chris finally said in a hushed tone.

Without another word, he accompanied his older brother back to their room, Martin seeming a little less shaken. Regardless of how small the change was, it made Chris feel a little at ease.

Once they made it back, Martin lay down in bed, refusing to let go of his brother who had no choice but to stay by his side. He ran his hand through Chris’ hair as a coping mechanism of some sort, cherishing each second of it. Normally, Chris would be giving him a hard time for touching his hair, but this was an exception he was more than willing to make.

Silence.

“You wanna… talk about it?”

Martin’s heart skipped a beat. He shook his head hard, tightening his arms around his little brother.

Chris sighed. “You don’t have to... But it might help you feel better?” His voice was calm and soothing.

Martin swallowed hard.

“I- ” he found it hard to talk. His eyes began to water again. “I’m just glad you’re here. With me .” He pulled Chris even closer.

Chris felt another tear fall on his hair. His brother’s words deeply perturbed him. He remained silent, snuggling deeper into the embrace.

All through the night, Martin was almost certain he’d never be able to go back to sleep. But Chris refused to fall asleep before he did. He could tell Martin was fighting to keep his eyes open.

“You need sleep, bro,” Chris finally said.

Martin didn’t say anything.

…

“I was running in a forest,” he suddenly started.

Chris was all ears.

“And I was looking for you…” His voice was getting more shaky with each word. “And when I found you- ” A small squeak escaped his throat. “You- ” He swallowed hard. “Y-You were- ” He began to tremble again, sounding as though he would burst into tears once more.

Chris could feel his fingers digging into his shirt and arms. “Hey, it’s okay. Everything’s okay now.” He brushed his hand against his brother’s agonized face. “Whatever happened to me, just know it was never real.” He looked up to find tears already seeping through the corners of his brother’s eyes.

“But i-it felt so real ,” Martin’s lips were shaking badly. He never sounded so scared, so vulnerable.

It almost made Chris burst into tears.

“Hey, look at me.” Chris held his face and looked deep into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, you hear me?” His voice was comforting and reassuring. “When you wake up, you’ll find me right here.”

Martin looked down at his brother for the longest time, sensing the sincerity in his eyes. “Promise?” He gave him a longing look.

Chris caressed his hand. “I promise.”

With a tear-stained face, Martin gave him a somewhat relaxed smile. “Okay.” He seemed a little pensive.

After a while longer, Martin finally yawned. “Thanks, Chris.” He gently rubbed his face against his little brother’s hair, scooching as close as possible.

It didn’t take long before Martin gave in as he was drifting back to sleep.

Soon, Chris could hear him snoring softly. With a tired smile, he carefully pulled the blanket over them both, his brother’s arms strongly locked around him.

Chris hid his face in his brother’s shoulder and curled into a little ball, Martin now seeming at peace for the first time since he’d woken up.

At last, Chris closed his eyes, and whispered, “Good night, big bro.”

Notes:

Thank you @littlecrittereli for the wonderful cover you made for this fic!

[fallingstqrss]

kiss it better

request: can you do a one-shot just like the scene where coryo goes insane because he thinks that the reader left him in the cabin but she didn't and they just go to spend some quality time.

a/n: thank you so much for the request i love this idea!

summary: following the death of Mayflower and Billy Taupe you and coriolanus decide to flee the districts, hoping to avoid the persecution of the peacekeepers. however, when you seem to get lost in the woods coriolanus panics.

warnings: there is a brief description of mayfair's death but it's not detailed. coriolanus might be slightly ooc cause this is my first time writing him but i swear im trying my best.

Coriolanus had made a huge mistake. he hadn't meant to kill Mayfair, he just panicked. He was just going to let her leave but then you walked in, making you a part of Sejanus' horrible plan.

"What's going on?" You spoke, eyes moving from Coriolanus to the weapons that lay on the table. Coriolanus saw as your eyes widened and he hurried to comfort you. "Corio, what's going on?" You questioned again, clutching onto his bicep, hoping for reassurance.

"Y/n, it's gonna be fine-" Coriolanus started, attempting to soothe you as he ran a hand across your cheek.

"Oh, none of you are going to be fine. I'm gonna tell my Daddy what all of you did and he's gonna string you up!" Mayfair spoke in an almost taunting tone. Her threat casts a chilling shadow over the room. As Mayfair turned to leave Spruce, fueled by tension and adrenaline, raised the gun to her back.

"I can't let you leave," Spruce spoke. Y/n took an unconscious step back, recoiling from the potential for violence. Coriolanus could tell you were scared and he felt horrible for being the reason you were involved in this. His mind was racing, he knew he had to get you out of there.

"She's bluffing, she won't actually do anything." Billy Taupe defended, eager to avoid any harm that might come to his girlfriend and to deescalate the growing tension in the room.

"Really? Was I bluffing at the reaping? Tell me Lucy Gray, how did you like your time in the Capitol?" Mayfair spoke, eyes staring at Lucy Gray, who gasped. Mayfair smiled as she turned to leave. Coriolanus jumped at the opportunity, lunging for the weapon on the ground. In a single second Mayfair had fallen to the ground. You gasped, your eyes fixated on Mayfair's fallen figure. Coriolanus was quick to shield you from the unsettling sight, positioning himself in front of you.

"I need you to go home y/n. I'm going to get this figured out. But you need to go home right now and you can't look like anything is wrong," He spoke, his tone firm and filled with urgency. "y/n, please." Coriolanus spoke again when you didn't move. You had stood still, trying to process the events that had just unfolded in front of you. Finally, you looked up at Coriolanus, a nod of reluctant understanding breaking through your shock. You trusted Coriolanus, he would get you guys out of this.

Coriolanus watched you leave, a mixture of relief and worry painted on his face. Once you were out of sight, he turned back to the remaining people in the room. He was determined, now that your safety was at risk nothing else mattered.

That's how the two of you ended up here, walking through the woods, in search of life beyond the districts. Despite some attempts at small talk, the weight of the recent events hung heavily in the air. Coriolanus could sense you were struggling to come to terms with the deaths of Mayfair and, more importantly, your shared friend Sejanus.

"I just don't understand what happened. Sejanus' plan was horrible but he seemed like he was being careful," You rambled on, your voice heavy with confusion and grief. You were unaware of Coriolanus' involvement in the death of your friend. You also didn't notice the tension of the captured Coriolanus at the mention of Sejanus.

"He apparently wasn't careful enough," Coriolanus responded, his tone colder than usual, a deliberate attempt to steer away from the conversation surrounding Sejanus. He longed to focus on the two the two of you would spend together, the new life you could start. Coriolanus was taken aback when you came to an abrupt stop, forcing him to backtrack to stand in front of you. You stared up at him, your eyebrows furrowed.

"Do you not mourn for Sejanus at all, Corio?" You spoke, your eyes reflecting the sadness and confusion that weighed you down. Coriolanus felt a pang of guilt for being distant. However, the truth of Sejanus' death was a burden that he couldn't bear to share with you. He knew you would've never forgiven him.

"Of course, I do," Coriolanus spoke, his tone softer now in an attempt to console you. Coriolanus brought a hand to cup your cheek. "But, it was his actions that killed him." You still seemed unsure, offering a careful nod before turning your gaze to the ground. Coriolanus dropped his hand, moving to walk next to you again.

Eventually, the two of you arrived at the cabin shown to you by Lucy Gray and the Covey. Coriolanus couldn't shake the feeling of your silence, finding it unsettling. The two of you walked into the cabin, setting your things down. "We should fish for a while, we're going to need some food for the rest of the trip," Coriolanus suggested.

"Lucy Gray said there should be some poles under the floorboards," You spoke, avoiding eye contact with Coriolanus as you hung your belongings on the hooks by the door.

Coriolanus nodded, moving towards the boards he found to be loose. He lifted the boards, his eyes widening as he lifted the sheet to reveal the guns that had been used to kill Mayfair. You observed from across the room, a twinge of concern gracing your features. "What is it, Corio?" You questioned, his familiar nickname being a small sense of comfort in the moment of the unsettling discovery. He remained silent, picking up the gun as he turned to face you. Your breath caught in your chest as you saw the weapon, your mind flashing back to the violent events.

"It's the guns," Coriolanus stated, his eyes moving between the weapon in his arms and you. "This means we can go home," You hummed, nodding in agreement. The revelations held the promise of an escape. The promise of a way home. But, they also unearthed memories Coriolanus knew you could never fully forget.

"I'm going to see if I can find anything to eat around the lake, maybe that one root Lucy Gray mentioned," You spoke quickly, shaking your head as she grabbed one of the small shovels left near the door.

"Y/n, wait," Coriolanus spoke, sensing the uneasy energy that surrounded you. "It could be dangerous," Coriolanus spoke, his protective nature kicking in. You smiled as you recognized his instinct to protect you.

"Well, it's a good thing I've got this," You spoke, attempting a teasing tone as you held up the shovel. You could tell Coriolanus didn't quite believe you and you hurried out of the door. Coriolanus was worried for you but brushed off the interaction, trusting that you could take care of yourself. He rewrapped the guns, hoping to drop them into the lake, burying the echoes of the past.

Coriolanus stepped outside heading towards the boat. His eyes circled his surroundings, hoping to find you. However, he didn't see you. He looked around again, his breathing becoming more ragged as he called out for you. He was met with the horrifying echo of his own voice, no response from you.

You had ventured into the forest after finding that Katniss was not ready to be eaten. You had hoped to find some berries, remembering the ones Maude Ivory had collected for you to eat. You attempted to ignore the way the trees seemed to close in on you, the path you thought you knew being erased. You ignored those thought, you had been going in a straight line, there were no place to get lost along the way.

"They should be up here," You whispered to yourself, letting out a sigh as you hoped to break the silence that lay within the forest. The rustling leaves and distant calls of birds engulfed you as you moved throughout the forest.

You had been walking for a while, looking around you realized you have never been in this part of the forest, a sign that you had gone way too far. You turned in various directions, spinning around as you searched for the way you came. Panic began to set in as you quickened your pace, unfortunately leading you to venture deeper and deeper into the forest.

In her disoriented state, you failed to see the root sticking out of the ground. Her foot caught on the root, causing you to stumble forward. Desperation clawed at you as you tried to regain your balance. However, the forest had other plans.

A divot in the ground forced you to the ground as your hands reached out to break your fall. The forest floor met you with a sickening thud, your head colliding with a moss-covered rock. The world around you spun, the pain in your head intensifying with every breath you took. As your consciousness slipped away, the forest seemed to blur into a blend of green and brown, the shadows seeming to dance together in a mesmerizing rhythm.

Back at the cabin Coriolanus grew restless as he awaited your return. The seconds felt like hours as he stared at the tree line, willing you to appear. Finally, Coriolanus was sick of waiting and decided that he would find you himself.

As he ventured into the forest the trees seemed to swallow him. His breaths came out fast, each step propelling him further into the silent forest. Anxiety was clawing at his chest, hundreds of what-ifs raced in his mind.

"Y/n? Did something happen? If something happens we can talk about it!" Coriolanus shouted, pausing as he awaited a response. But he didn't receive one, he only had the rustling leaves to greet him. The silence that surrounded him was deafening.

"Y/n, please say something. I need to know you're okay," He pleaded again. The forest remained silent, offering no hope to comfort his growing concern. Fear painted vivid scenarios in his head, each one darker than the last.

"Please, y/n, if I did something I'm so sorry. We don't even have to talk about it, please just come back with me." Coriolanus pleaded. His pleas became more urgent. His mood shifted from worry to complete despare quickly.

"Please, I can't lose you too." He spoke, this plea much quieter than the previous ones. His voice broke as he spoke, his eyes searching for any clue of you. His steps quickened as he moved around the forest, his handles trembling as he pushed branches out of his way.

"Please, y/n," He called one more time, assuming the worst. He'd come to the conclusion that you left him. It was either that or you were dead, but he couldn't bring himself to grasp the idea that you were dead.

Unbeknownst to Coriolanus, you began to stir on the forest floor. The pain in your head still lingered but the sound of someone's voice distracted you from the pain. You listened more closely as you tried to sit up. Your senses were snapped back into reality when you realized that it was Coriolanus' voice you were hearing. The closer you listened you realized how distressed he sounded and it practically broke your heart. You listened again to his ever-present calls, trying to hear which direction they were coming from, his voice acting as a life-line.

"Corio," you called out weakly, standing as you braced yourself on one of the trees. Coriolanus' head snapped in the direction of your voice. He hurried in that direction, his eyes wide with fear and relief. "Coriolanus," You called out again, wondering if you had imagined him calling for you.

"Hang on y/n! I'm coming," He spoke. Relief washed over him when he finally saw you leaning up against one of the trees, Coriolanus rushed towards you. In your disoriented state you barely even realized he had found you until he engulfed you in his arms. Your senses finally started to come back to you as you reciprocated the embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Coriolanus pulled away for a moment, his eyes scanning your face, he could hardly believe he'd actually found you. He'd thought you were gone for good. Your eyes met his, being met with a vulnerability from Coriolanus you'd never seen before. Coriolanus hated the way you made him felt. He hated how worried he always was for you. But, he also couldn't deny how much he loved you.

"What happened?" Coriolanus finally spoke, brushing your hair out of your face to examine the cut on your forehead.

"I was looking for those berries, the ones Maude Ivory showed us and I got lost, and then I think I tripped," you began to ramble, stopping yourself to take a breath before speaking again, "It's all kind of a blur." Coriolanus nodded as he processed what you said, unraveling his arms from you as he wrapped an arm around your waist to help guide you back to the cabin.

"Well, I think we should get you back to the cabin," Coriolanus spoke and you laughed as you nodded. You'd had enough of the woods.

Back at the cabin Coriolanus used one of the med-kits you'd brought to clean you up. Your heart swelled at how gentle he was, his hands moving cautiously over your face.

"So, will I survive?" You questioned, a smile gracing your features.

"I think you'll be okay," Coriolanus responded, a smile of his own coming across his face. But, you could tell the smile didn't meet his eyes. You could tell something was still bothering him. The sunlight pouring in from the windows illuminated the worry that was still present in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the fear he'd felt when he thought you'd abandoned him in the forest.

When Coriolanus finished cleaning the wound he set the supplies to the side and leaned in, placing a delicate kiss on the spot he'd just tended to. The warmth of his lips lingered on your forehead, a comforting gesture that transcended the physical healing.

"There, kissed it better." Coriolanus whispered as he moved away from you, cleaning up the remaining supplies of the med-kit.

Despite his comforting gesture, you couldn't ignore the concern that was still etched on his face. As he finished putting the med-kit away he turned to look at you, being met with your questioning gaze. "Corio, you've been on edge since we got back. What's wrong?" You questioned him, taking a couple steps closer to him so you could wrap your arms around his waist.

Coriolanus hesitated, his eyes betraying his turmoil of emotions. He opened his mouth to respond but the words got caught in his throat. Tension lingered in the air as you searched his face for clues on what he was feeling.

"It's nothing, y/n. Just a scare, that's all. Everything is fine." Coriolanus spoke. However, despite his attempts to comfort you, you could still sense his unease. You reached upwards, cupping his face to draw his attention.

"Come on, Corio. Talk to me," You spoke. Coriolanus sighed, he was torn between his desire to shield you from his concerns and the intimacy the two of you had always shared. Eventually, he gave in.

"I just... I can't stand the thought of anything happening to you. losing you in the woods, even if it was just for a moment, it terrified me." Coriolanus confessed softly. Your eyes softened at his confession.

"I'm right here, Corio. I'm not going anywhere." You assured, he nodded. "I love you, Coriolanus. Wherever you go, I'm gonna be there." You spoke, his words caught him off guard. The two of you had never used the word love.

"Y/n..." Coriolanus started, his eyes moving away from you. However, your hold on his face forced his attention back onto you. "I've never been good at this, relationships. I'm afraid of losing you, of not being enough." You nodded, you understood Coriolanus' insecurities as he'd previously voiced some of his concerns to you.

"Corio," You took a step closer, "I love you for who you are. I don't need you to be perfect." You assured him. Your words hung in the air, in that moment, leaning into Coriolanus, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss. Coriolanus, having been initially surprised by the kiss, eventually surrenders to the kiss. When the two of you pulled away you spoke again. "I want to go back to the Capitol, Corio."

Coriolanus looked surprised but that was overtaken by a look of happiness. He wanted nothing more than to return to his home and family, and now that you did too there was nothing stopping the two of you. "Wherever you wanna go, I'll follow you." Coriolanus spoke, repeating the words you'd said earlier, you smiled at him.

The decision being made, the two of you faced what leaving the woods meant. Coriolanus worked to dispose of the guns while you packed the remaining items you had at the cabin. As you walked out of the door you saw him pushing the boat back to shore. Coriolanus jumped out of the boat, outstretching his hand for you. You smiled at the gesture, moving to meet him, enclosing his hand with your own.

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. X

cw: disordered eating (but not intentional ED), mention of not canon targcest? (not Daenys she doesn't fw that)

tags: @beebeechaos @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @thelastemzy @fall-winter-heart97 @pedro-pascal-love @thatkindofgurl @theadharablack @reyndaisy @littleblackcatinwonderland @hueanhdang @purple-1995

As Daenys expected, she was summoned to the Painted Table in the morning. Dressed in a fine dark purple dress, she stood in her place next to Jacaerys, Rhaena, and Baela. She was secretly pleased to see Daemon's bruised face seated next to Rhaenyra.

Maester Geradys, who had been the first to recieve the raven, spoke. "It is yet unclear how the Keep itself was breached. The boy's head was severed from his body. Thousands witnessed the procession."

Rhaenyra looked stunned at the news, agasp at the accusation and murder itself. "And they are accusing me of having a hand in this?"

"It appears so." He replied solemnly. "There have been messages sent of that affect...throughout the realm."

His words rung uncomfortably, a foreboding warning that the tides may shift in favor of the Greens when people were told Rhaenyra ordered a child to be killed.

She nodded firmly, "we must send our own messages, denying this vile accusation." She paced around the front of the table slightly, wringing her hands.

The Maester nodded. "I will do so at once. But, I'm not sure they will be recieved in good faith."

"And we must double our guard. Here and in Driftmark." The Queen insisted, finally sitting to stop herself from appearing anxious. "There will be swift retribution in one form or another–"

"I have seen to it, Your Grace." Lord Baltimos interrupted. Daenys glared at him, almost reprimanding him for his disrespect. It seemed to be a common thing around the Council. Many of the lords were old and believed themselves more experienced and knowing in war than Rhaenyra, though none had seen war themselves.

Especially Ser Alfred Broome, who sat himself at the edge furthest from The Queen. He was an advisor for Arms to Rhaenyra, yet he thought himself most important and all-knowing.

Jacaerys spoke up, "Let me fly out on Vermax. Rhaenys is needed in the Gullet and I can watch for movements from King's Landing." He offered.

"No." Rhaenyra denied immediately.

Jace shifted on his feet, clearly irritated at the rejection of offered use. He was eager to help, to make himself useful for his mother's cause. Daenys understood both sides, knowing Rhaenyra would be overly cautious when it came to her remaining children's lives.

"It must be said that the damage to our position is immeasurable. At a time when we most need loyalty to our cause." Baltimos spoke up again, his own irritation leaking into his tone as if he were scolding the Queen.

She scoffed a disbelieving laugh, "but it is a lie."

"Having lost my own son, that I would inflict such a thing on Helena of all people?" Her council stood silent, avoiding her gaze. Eyes shifted between her and Daemon. All knew her genteel nature, and all also knew of his reckless one.

Alfred Broome spoke up from his spot at the end of the table. "The death of Prince Lucerys was a shock and an insult. A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution." He boldly stated, causing Rhaenyra to push up from her seat offendedly.

"Are you suggesting, Ser Alfred, that my grief drove me to order the decapitation of a child?" Her mother looked much like a dragon, then, with bared teeth and a predatory look in her purple eyes.

"I merely thought, perhaps, an action taken in haste." He cleared, though he did not look apologetic. Jace clutched the pommel of his sword tightly, mirroring Daenys' dislike for the older man.

"Mind yourself." Princess Rhaenys spoke up from her seat beside Ser Alfred.

Rhaenyra settled into her own seat, after glaring Ser Alfred down into his own. Rhaenyra's own gaze landed on her husband, a realization settled on her features. Fury gleamed in her eyes.

The council was soon dismissed. Jacaerys and Baela went off together to do their own things. Rhaena left with her grandmother after bidding Daenys a farewell. Daenys found herself simply waiting for Rhaenyra to finish her talk with Daemon before they could finally have their own conversation.

🗡

Cregan leaned back in the uncomfortable steel chair, cursing his decision to use the Maester's chair instead of bringing the stationary supplies to his temporary chambers at Castle Black. He decided to stay there for a few days, should any ravens be sent to him from the Queen or Daenys.

He had already finished drafting his many letters to his sworn houses in the North. He summonded his 2,000 greybeards from the places he knew housed the most of them and carefully decided which of the younger men he should send out to war. He divided the numbers up immediately after Daenys left the castle, wanting to send them marching as soon as they received word. The walk from the North to the southern allied houses was great, and the more time they had, the better. Taking all those men over The Twins was already a headache. Cregan still needed to decide if he should lead this march or await Daenys in Winterfell.

He decided to send his men straight to the Riverlands to station themselves until word came from Rhaenyra on which battles to fight or which holds to defend. He assumed that Harrenhall would be easily taken by the Blacks, and the lands surrounding it would be a good vantage for his men to set up such large camps. Harrenhall, though, lied dangerously close to the crownlands, which would be swiftly conquered one by one by the Greens, if they hadn't already sworn allegence. North of Harrenhall might be better, closer to the Tullys or Freys. He needed to know their allegences quickly. He started to write another draft to the Queen, asking for a list of her sworn houses. He ignored the crick in his back that was forming due to the chair.

Up in the tower, the ravens were able to be sent at once after he finished writing and sealing them. He informed the queen to send all future ravens immediately to Winterfell. He would be leaving after all of his tasks were done at The Wall.

After sealing the scroll, he attached it to the foot of a raven, who squaked at him as if annoyed before flying out of the open sil. Another raven landed in his place, a sealed green Targaryen symbol on it. He sighed, rubbing his forehead at the sight.

Cregan's heart dropped to his stomach at the contents. Jaehaerys was murdered in his bed, supposedly by 'Rhaenyra the Cruel', who ordered it. He knew it was a false accusation. Daenys had dreamt of it only the night before she left. A man was responsible, if Helena's words were anything to go off of, not the Queen. He silently prayed for the peace of the mother and hoped the boy did not suffer too much.

He threw out the letter, knowing his oaths would forever be tied to the Blacks, whether in matrimony or in pure honor.

Cregan had sent out all the letters he needed to, packing up his bag in his quarters. Dusk was a missing presence, having been sent ahead to Winterfell by Cregan. Perhaps, he thought, he could send his direwolf in his place at the march, being able to see through Dusk's eyes at any time he pleased while diplomatically leading from Winterfell. There, he could wait for Daenys to come back to him. He found himself missing her presence already, feeling a gap in his soul from her departure.

Lord Stark left Castle Black on Red, Mylo trailing behind him ever so faithfully. In the back of his mind, Cregan thought of the white steed making a good wedding gift for Daenys, who had taken quite well to him.

🗡

Daenys passed Daemon in the hall on her way towards her mother's chambers, Baela at her side. He looked feral, a pissed off look on his face as he passed his daughters. He ignored Baela's call for him, striding past them both without a glance.

One less dragon for Dragonstone was all Daenys had to think about it. She knew he was on his way to Harrenhall after the scolding Rhaenyra gave him, he'd been impatient to go ever since the damned war started.

Baela and Daenys entered the chambers, following Ser Erryk. They curtsied politely together, the Queen first addressing her stepdaughter. "When morning comes, take Moondancer, and keep a watch on King's Landing. I must know which course they take next." Stress was clear on her face, likely because of Daemon's antics.

"I will be vigilant." Baela replied firmly, glad to be given a task by Rhaenyra. She'd been as impaitient for one as her betrothed.

"I depend on you, Baela. Stay high, and keep your distance. We can afford no further mistakes."

A pang of jealousy ripped its way into Daenys heart against her better judgment. Of course, Baela was a skilled rider and a fiecely loyal Lady to Rhaenyra. Daenys knew that. She also knew of her mother's hesitation to get her children into further mishaps, but she couldn't help but feel untrusted and useless. She was not the weak little girl that everyone seemed to think she was. Perhaps—in personality—she had always been quiet and non-confronting. But she was still a dragonrider like her kin. Daenys was inherently useful with Morningstar at her command. If only Daemon and Rhaenyra would see that.

"My father?" Baela brought up hesitantly.

Rhaenyra sighed, "he must follow his own path." The vague words hardly help sooth Baela's fears, but all in the room knew of his headstrong behavior.

Baela bowed and left. Daenys nodded to Swe Erryk, dismissing him behind Baela to speak alone with The Queen.

She sat herself down in front of Rhaenyra, picking at her nails.

Rhaenyra waited, used to her long pauses for thinking over her words carefully.

"There was a fire." She started. "I cannot say anything more, except that it was Morningstar's."

"A fire?" Rhaenyra asked, only more confused by her elaboration.

"It burned me. Well, my clothes. It totally engulfed me, for however long it took for the clothes to turn to ash. For that whole time, I simply laid there, on the ground, thinking I was dead. I felt no pain, got no burns, and obviously am still alive." She gestured to herself. "I know for certain that I had not read about anyone on our bloodline being immune to dragonfire, or fire in general speaking.

Rhaenyra leaned back, hand rubbing over her mouth in a thoughtful gesture. "You did not feel it, at all?" Daenys was grateful that she believed her so quickly. She was not known for being a liar, after all.

"None."

"I have not read such things, either." She stood, bringing Daenys to the lit hearth. With a firepoker, the mother carefully brought out a smoking piece of wood. Catching on fast, Daenys gingerly moved to touch it, jumping back when it seared her fingertips. Cursing, Daenys placed her fingers in the water basin that Rhaenyra kept in her room.

Rhaenyra hummed. "What was the situation."

"Mother, I can not tell you that. You would not see me the same way." Daenys pleaded, clutching her throbbing fingers to her chest and shaking them slightly. The pain was short-lived, fortunate.

"Did you...order Morningstar to burn you?" Like Laena, was left out.

"Not in the way that you are thinking. I will always return home to you, mother. I did not wish to die, only knew in the situation that I had to make my choice." Daenys told her. She grabbed her mother by the wrist, suddenly invigorated. "Let's try it with Morningstar's fire." She said, guiding her mother to the dragonpits.

Rhaenyra haplessly followed, thoughts jumbled. Morningstar was in the shallow part of the cave, near the perch. Her breakfast was currently being served by the Keepers. "Dracarys!" One commanded, a brilliant blue light filling the cave.

"Morningstar, do not eat!" She commanded

Reluctantly, the beast obeyed. Daenys climbed down the steps, Rhaenyra close on her tail. Slowly, she approached the burning sheep, waving her hand over it. When she did not feel the searing heat, she placed her hand on the sheep's flaming cost. She looked back to Rhaenyra, who's eyes were wide in awe. Even Morningstar tilted her head curiously, but was more concerned about finally getting to eat without hunting her own food.

After Rhaenyra and Daenys left, back to the chambers, they sat in silence for a moment to take the information in. "I cannot tell you why this has happened. Perhaps it is your bond–Morningstar is a unique dragon already with her blue flames–or perhaps it has something to do with your connection to Old Valyria and its magic."

"Magic?" Daenys asked.

"Your dreams. Of course, there is no studies behind them so there is no explanation. The closest one I can give you is the Blood Magic of Old Valyria, which was rumored to be used by dragonriding families. Perhaps that is what gave your ancestor Daenys her gift, too."

"I'd hardly call it a gift. I am wrong, sometimes. I can not trust my mind to tell me the truth. Not after father." She sighed, slumling into her seat.

Rhaenyra sat up straight in her own, an odd look in her eyes. "Have you been wrong again?" She asked tentatively.

"Not in the important matters. I saw...Luke. That night, being chased by an unidentified dragon. Then, days later I saw you, wanding the beaches of the stormlands to find remains of him." She shook her head. "I thought they were tricks. That Lord Borros would never let such a thing happen under his roof. I was wrong."

"I also saw Jaehaerys. I tried to stop Daemon, but he gave the order before I could stop him." She confessed, feeling guilty for not being able to stop what that time she truly believed.

Rhaenyra was quite for a few minutes after, the guilty look now apparent on her features.

"Mother?" Daenys asked quietly.

"My sweet girl, your dreams have never lied to you." She said, confusing Daenys.

"How do you know?–"

"Laenor's death is the only one that you could not forsee."

Daenys furrowed her brows, bemused at her mother's words. When she only kept her gaze on the wall behind Daenys instead of looking her daughter in the eye, Daenys felt her heart drop. "Father...did not die in the fire?" She whispered.

Rhaenyra's silence was deafening.

"You have lied to me for nine years? Almost a decade?" Daenys asked, voice calm and steady. She felt rage rising in her chest, this time not caring.

Rhaenyra placed her hand over her stomach soothingly, watching Daenys stand up, chair falling to its back behind her.

"Does this have anything to do with your and Daemon's timely wedding? Did you two force Laenor to leave us all so you could finally have your uncle all to yourself?!" She shouted, pacing in front of the table.

"Laenor left on his own accord. We did not force him. He lives his life peacefully in his own corner of the world, unknown to even myself and Daemon."

Daenys stilled, disbelieving her mother's confession. "He left us? He left me?"

Rhaenyra nodded, twisting the ring on her hand. "He loved you more than anything, sweet girl."

"Would you leave us?"

"Of course not!" Rhaenyra insisted, offended at the very thought.

"Then why would our father? Because we are not truly his? Did he ever see us as his own?" She panted out, tears falling from her cheeks onto the stone floor. "It is not our fault we are bastards!" She shouted, tugging wroughtly at her loose hair.

"Daenys," Rhaenyra stood, moving to comfort her daughter. She was pushed away swiftly, Daenys running out of her chambers, past Ser Erryk waiting outside of them.

She spent the rest of the day in her chambers, buried under Cregan's pelt cloak. She wished to escape, even temporarily. She wished she could be back with him. Cregan wouldn't lie to her. He wouldn't convince her that she was insane for half of her life. She couldn't trust anyone, apparently. Not even her mother, who was supposed to look out for her.

Or her father, who left her to be with his forbidden lover.

Daenys didn't know if she hated him or herself for his leaving. Or her mother. It was not Daenys' fault that Laenor wasn't her father, though she desperately wished him to be.

A maid knocked at her door around supper time, entering without word from Daenys. "The Queen has sent me. She recieved word from the kitchens that your plates have gone untouched since you arrived."

She wasn't aware that there had been plates in her room, nor was she aware of how many days had passed since she arrived. "Put it on the table." She mumbled from beneath the fur.

Franny, her usual maid that had been helping Daenys every day since she first moved to dragonstone, shook her head. "The Queen has instructed me to watch you eat, and to finish the plate."

"I instruct you to leave it at the table." Daenys firmly said, lifting her head from the cover.

Franny shook her head again, planting herself firmly by the door. "Queen's orders, Princess. We are all worried about you."

"You can worry about me from outside." Daenys said, throwing her head back onto the pillow. She willed herself to ignore Franny's stares. The door opened, Franny whispering to someone outside of it, then Daenys yelped as the pelt was ripped off of her. "Hey!" she shouted, sitting up and meeting whoever had disrespected their Princess to brazenly.

It was Jacaerys and Beala, both matching in their pitiful stares. Jacaerys guided her up from her bed, plopping his sister down on her seat and sitting in front of her. Baela stood by the door, detering her from leaving. She felt sick. What was the point of this? She would eat when she felt hungry, but she had not felt hungry since her last night with Cregan.

"Jace." She hissed out, "get out. I'm tired and I wish to sleep. I will break my fast with all of you on the morrow."

"We're not leaving until that plate is clean." He said, relaxing into his chair.

She was reminded of her time at the Red Keep, where feasts where held in the grand hall, and Daenys sat with her siblings at the high table with all the other royal blood. All she could feel was the stares of hundreds of people, whispering about her and her family. The way they walked, talked, ate.

She learned that if you don't give them anything to judge you for, then they grow bored of you. She took to eating in her chambers, avoiding walking in crowded areas, did not speak with strangers, and made sure that she did not scream in her sleep.

All perfectly cultivated. Daenys had only eaten with Cregan because she had grown so comfortable with him. He never stared while she ate, never had that judgmental stare. Jacaerys and Baela did. Franny did. She felt like curling up and disappearing again. She felt like she was in King's Landing again. "Don't force me to, Jace." She pleaded. He faltered a second, sympathy replacing the hard look in his eye, before he shook his head.

They sat there for almost an hour, simply in silence. Daenys crossed her arms, refusing to even look at the other's. "Sister, if this continues I will have to force—" Jacaerys was cut off by a maid screaming in the halls.

They all jumped to see the threat, Jace drawing his sword. On the steps of the dining hall, Ser Alfred Broome lie dead, skull bashed into the stone stairs. "There's an intruder in the castle!" Jacaerys declaring rushing towards their mother's chambers immediately. It was most likely to be her as the target to any assassin's attempts. When they got there, they were already too late.

Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk were dead on the floors of Rhaenyra's chambers.

🗡

The funeral was small, only attended by a few people, including Jace, Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, and Daenys. The Queensguard and the gravedigger, too, but they did not add to the conversation.

"He is the basest of Villains." Jace insisted that they bury Erryk and Arryk separately, so the traitor did not taint his brother's grave, who had loyally protected the Queen with his life. He was denied by Rhaenyra herself. "He sullies his brother's grave."

"I cannot fault him for keeping his oath." The morning sun was blocked by a sheet of grey clouds, ever setting Dragonstone's mood to somber.

Jace, leaning in so others could not hear, "and what of those who sent him?" He was frustrated, furious even, that Rhaenyra refused to retaliate on an assassination attempt on her own life, obviously made by the usurper. Daenys, though silent all night and morning, was torn between both sides. Jace was right to want to send out their full force, surround King's Landing with their dragons and armies before they could amass any more men themselves. Rhaenyra wished to keep the peace, find any way to take her throne back with the least amount of bloodshed.

Rhaenyra was silent, and Jacaerys began walking away to go back inside the castle. Daenys, with some reluctance, followed. She did not have the energy to speak with Rhaenyra alone after their conversation last night.

"She is being foolish, merciful on the very men who murdered Luke—almost murdered her!" He said, slowling for Daenys to catch up.

"Mother is being cautious. They do have a large support, now that people believe her to be a babe killer. They also have Vhagar." Daenys reminded him, though her own blood ran hot at the idea of Aemond and Aegon, laughing in the throne room at their hardships.

"Even Vhagar cannot face all of our dragons." He sniffed.

"If we sent all of our dragons to beat one, it would be a bloodbath of them all. The dragons follow commands, not sides. Who knows if they accidentally attack an ally who got in their way?" She mused, placing her hands behind her back as they walked along the beach.

Jacaerys conceded, heaving a dramatic sigh and throwing his head back, knowing his elder sister was right. "I only wish to bring them to justice. For all of this to be done with."

"Me too, Jace." She smiled softly, patting his bicep comfortingly.

"So," he turned to her, disregarding the serious topic of discussion for a lighter one. "What truly happened in the North? You leave for nearly three weeks, then come back betrothed. You didn't look too pleased with it." He frowned.

Daenys defended Cregan quickly. "Cregan is kind and understanding. We spent much time together on our travels to The Wall. I understand why he would want my hand in exchange for more men, I am content with my decision." She left out most of the details, figuring he need not worry about her two near-death experiences or the fact that Cregan confessed his love for her.

"Hm. If he wants a Targaryen, I can make a different offer. You don't need to sacrifice yourself to a Northman so easily." Jacaerys fretted, apparently having selective hearing when Daenys told him about Cregan's qualities.

"As I said, Jace. I am content. Believe me when I say that. You are happy to be betrothed to Baela, yes?"

Jacaerys nodded, pursing his lips into a fine line.

"I believe you. Can you believe me?" She asked teasingly, laughing slightly when he gave her those pathetic puppy-dog brown eyes.

"I do not wish to see my only sister sent off so far. I thought you had no wish to be married?" Daenys knew his words came from a place of concern, but she couldn't help but feel like he simply didn't expect anyone to make an offer.

"Feelings change. You once thought Helena to be your future wife once, didn't you?" She snorted.

He blushed, embarrassed at his past crush. "That was many years ago. Of course, I do not feel the same way now. I'm talking about you, Dae. Do not change the subject. You mean to tell me, that in a mere few weeks, your feelings have completely changed?"

She smiled, nodding firmly. "Yes, I do."

He sighed, resting his hand upon his sword pommel, as he has grown into the habit of doing (much like Daemon, though Daenys did not mention that similar aloud). "Very well. I suppose I do not have to fight any Northern Lords this sennight. But, if he does anything untoward, I will."

Daenys giggled, shaking her head in amusement. "I could not watch such a fight."

"Why not? Wouldn't you like to see the man who disrespected you be cut down?" He puffed out his chest dramatically.

"It would not be much of a fight, dear Brother. I'm afraid I might die of embarrassment when you are disarmed in a second."

He visibly deflated, shocked at her lack of faith.

They reached the doors to Dragonstone's castle, having taken the leisure way around while they chatted. Both separated for the day until the meeting would call upon them.

Daenys went to her chambers, making sure to lock the door behind her this time. She glanced at the cold plate on her table, throwing its contents into the bin nearby. She sighed, dropping the plate with it too, covering it with soft paper. Daenys hated to waste food at such a time, but it would only make her ill. She chose to sleep, feeling the exhausting weighing on her shoulders.

In the afternoon, she was awakened by a soft knock on the door, and Franny's voice told her of her summoning. Daenys quickly fixed her ruffled dress and hair, walking downstairs to the council hall.

The Painted Table was being lit for the council meeting, Rhaenyra standing at its head solemly. The Maester informed her of Daemon's silence, but made an educated guess that he was occupied greatly by Harrenhall.

The table was missing Ser Alfred Broome, though Daenys guessed none truly mourned him. What friends could an arse like him keep? Still, his station needed to be filled.

Rhaenyra started, "Today, we all mourn the loss of Ser Alfred Broome and Ser Erryk Cargyll. Their absences will ring deeply in our hearts, but we must not dwell on it. We need another, to sit on the council, an advisor of Arms." Rhaenyra left it open, for anyone to suggest a knight or lord.

When it remained silent, Daenys was the one who spoke up. With all eyes turned to her, it was hard to stay focused. She took a deep breath in, "perhaps Lord Stark could be summoned to be your Master of Arms? He does hold your current largest force, Your Grace. He knows his men well, and I believe could advise you even better."

Lord Gormon Massey laughed, shaking his head. "Lord Stark is but a boy, he has no experience in war."

Daenys sharply turned to glare at the old man, "tell me, what experience do you have, Lord Massey? What battles has your sword seen?"

He coughed, sitting back in his chair awkwardly. "Does the young Lord send you back to Dragonstone as his betrothed to gain a spot on the Queen's council? What is next, will he demand to be made her Hand?" Gormon tried to recover.

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, had a thoughtful look on her face. "Thank you, daughter. I believe it is worth a try, many other lords allied to us would see themselves...occupied at their own holds nearby. He is far enough to not need to defend Winterfell from any rogue attempts for the Greens to take it." She nodded, dismissing what futile arguments her council might have.

"It will take him two months to travel here, though. I need a filler immediately." She continued.

Daenys nodded. "I can get him, bring him back on dragonback in a full day if I fly with no rest." She said her mother confidently.

"Very well. Go and bring Lord Stark back here, but do not linger at Winterfell. We need Morningstar stationed here, she and Meleys are our biggest dragons." Rhaenyra agreed to the terms, ending that conversation.

The council moved on, Daenys breathing a small sigh of relief. The men of the council bidded Rhaenyra to send out all her dragons at once, ending the war there and then, to which she refused smartly. Every Targaryen and Velayron knew that once you fought with dragons, it did not end so easily. Their house would invite its own destruction once all its dragons and riders were dead.

Another lord made a suggestion for Rhaenyra to hide herself away while they conducted the war without her. She shot that down, too. Irritated, the Queen dismissed her council for the day. There was nothing new to do, besides her own private business that only she could conduct in King's Landing.

Daenys rubbed at her temples, feeling her growing headache pound away sharper at her head. She walked back to her chambers, settling in to attempt to wait it out before she took flight. On her way back to her room, she asked Franny to order for Morningstar to be well-fed for her flight.

She sat on her bed for hours, well into the night, while she waited. What little sleep she got was contantly interrupted by the buzzing of her mind. Come the morning, Daenys still had not left. But, she was glad for it.

Rhaenyra was sending her youngest siblings away, as well as her step-sister Rhaena. Though she understood the reason, she still mourned them as though she might never see them again. As the guards escorted the crage of dragoneggs towards the docks, Daenys held little Viserys in her arms.

She watched absentmindedly as Rhaenyra bid her goodbyes to Rhaena, comforting her, although anyone could tell the young Lady was deeply bothered by being sent away simply because she was the only Velayron to not ride a dragon.

Daenys briefly hugged Rhaena, wishing her a safe journey before stepping aside for Baela to have a more meaningful parting with her sister. The twins shared a great bond, one that Daenys was grateful for. At least they would know they always had each other, no matter how far apart they landed.

Rhaenyra kissed her two baby son's goodbye, hugging Joffrey who was the only one able to stand and speak.

Daenys held Viserys tight one last time, kissing his whispy white hairs before handing him off to a maid. She did the same with little Aegon.

At Joffrey, she knelt. Daenys took his chubby little hands in her own. "Don't worry, sweet boy. I will see you soon, and take you for a ride on Morningstar."

He nodded, tears filling his little brown eyes. They hugged for a while, only forced to part when Jace wanted his turn.

Daenys walked back to the castle, leaving to the dragonpits without saying a word to Rhaenyra. Her mother knew where she would be, there was no reason to say goodbye.

Daenys greeted Morningstar with a girlish laugh, the white dragon nudging her rider as if to ask where she had been the past days since she visited during meal time.

She rubbed at the scaled snout gently. "We're heading back North, my girl."

Morningstar trilled happily, crouching to allow Daenys to mount. With a loud roar, the dragoness took flight back towards where they had come from. To the North they went.

🗡

Daemon had never been in worse company in his entire life. Or seen a castle in such conditions. And he had seen a lot of shit. Harrenhall was a disaster. What once was a great and honorable keep in the Riverlands, had been reduced to leaky roofs and crumbled towers.

It was easy enough to claim, he supposed. But was the repair even going to he worth it? Simon Strong had told him of Larys' hold on Harrenhall's coin, leaving none for the castle to be cared for or repaired. The only people who lived there seemed to be cravens or creeps.

But he'd rather sit here in the ghostly castle than admit defeat and come crawling back to Rhaenyra before he had anything to show for it. Currently, Willem Blackwood and Lord Grover Tully were being summonded to Harrenhall to declare for Rhaenyra and report to Daemon of their houses' available men.

While he waited, he refused to eat or drink anything that the old Strong gave him. He would not succumb to such follys so easily. At night, he found more trouble sleeping than he had before. Daemon found himself unknowing if he was in a dream or wide awake.

In what he suspected was a dream, Daemon looked up at a loomed weirwood tree that was as unkempt as the yard it was planted in. The crumbled stone walls outside, weeds growing everywhere, and dead grass were a testiment to its abandonment. Daemon turned from the tree, looking to go back inside and away from this grey place. He was met with a woman standing at the bottom of the slope. Long, straight, inky black hair flowed all the way to her waist. Her pale skin and green eyes were a stark contrast to the black surrounding her. Her clothes were that befitting of a servent or a bastard.

"You will die in this place."

The woman did not wait for a reply, merely lifting her skirts and walking back beyond the stone walls, leaving Daemon to stare after her.

He woke from the hazy dream only to the sound of droplets hitting the buckets he had placed around his room. Sighing, he wondered if that vagueness was something Daenys had always felt or if hers were more clear. He shook his head, clearing the dream from his mind. He did not have prophetic dreams. It was Harrenhall simply playing tricks on his mind.

Outside of his room, a shadow approached from the crack beneath the door. Daemon stilled, awaiting the action of the unknown person. It stayed silent. The door began to push in and out, an outside attempt to jam open the door–only being stopped by his sword hanging from the handles. Daemon carefully approached it, waiting for the jerking to stop before he removed the steel.

Holding Dark Sister tightly in his hand, he slammed the doors open, only to find no one there anymore. He peered out, waiting for the person to make themselves known. He walked down the hall, more relaxed now in stance as he wandered to the nearest open door.

A hearth was lit in the room, making it appear quite pleasant compared to the rest of the castle. Daemon slowly opened the door more from its cracked position, revealing whomever was inside. A familiar tone played in his mind.

It was the Valyrion song he had learned from his mother and father, from Viserys. He had hummed it to his own children, as all Targaryen parents did when soothing their babes to sleep. How did a lowly creature plaguing this damp castle know High Valyrion?

He stepped inside, meeting a room that was entirely unlike Harrenhall. It was warm, free of all damage. Homely. A white-haired girl sat on a chair, babe clutched in her arms, fast asleep. Daemon stepped closer, right behind the girl. A Targaryen bastard of Harrenhall?

The girl turned to him, ceasing her pretty humming. It was Rhaenyra, no older than nine and ten years of age. The spitting image of her younger self, naive and demanding as she had been back then.

"Always coming and going, aren't you?" She asked bitterly.

Daemon stared in horror, leaning over to see the white-haired babe in her arms. He lowered his sword.

"And I have to clean up afterwards."

He sucked in a harsh breath, a rush of guilt and regret sinking in his heart. "I tried, Rhaenyra. I asked Viserys for your hand—" He sounded desperate for her forgiveness, an image of his younger and more insecure self coming out to show its ugly face.

She ignored his words, humming again and stroking the babe's soft face. It's eyes opened, revealing soft lilacs that matched her mother's–and her father's.

🗡

Eek what do yall think about Rhae's confession? Finally, Daenys finds out that shes never needed to doubt her mind. But, at what cost? Her trust, her loyalty? find out next time on total, drama, island.

hel and jace would've made a fine pair, he is much kinder than Aegon and it might have stopped the war if alicent knew her kids were not threats to Rhae.

important below

🌟- I killed off Broome because he is arguably the most useless and disrespectful of the Black Council. He wasn't a lord, so no plot is lost if he dies. I wanted to note that none of her council has titles, like Viserys' council had. There's master of ships, master of coin, grand maester, master of arms, master of laws, and the Hand.

Rhaenyra only has the hand, maester, and a bunch of advisors, to a reason I do not know. So, I am trying to fill it in as I go. The other will not be given official titles, but I can assume Rhaenys and Corlys kind of unofficially share the Hand spot, since Corlys is often gone. Rhae can't name a woman her hand when her reign is already so fragile unfortunately, so Corlys is her next best.

did y'all know Elinda is a highborn lady? I must have missed that, because I thought she was only a loyal maid to Rhaenyra for years. She is her lady-in-waiting, and her father sits on Rhaenyra's council, Gormon Massey. I dunno how I went two seasons and rewatches without figuring that out without Wiki.

I know Daenys' most anticipated father was Harwin-sue me. I adore Harwin and his bond with Daenys. He took care of her like she was his own/like her brothers. But I feel like Daenys being an outlier from his siblings is a reflection of having a totally different parent from them (not counting the two youngest boys). Her Valyrion features, being a dreamer, her bond with Morningstar, being born a woman, and I'm sure other things I'm missing off the top of my head. All make her different from her brothers. I thought it was fitting of her to have a different father, too. The only one still alive, and the only one who 'stayed' unlike Laenor. Their relationship has always been complicated whereas Laenor and Harwin held a pure and unconditional love to Daenys. Harwin is the dad who stepped up 🙏

Daemon holds a guilt at always knowing he had a daughter in King's Landing but was never able to raise her or acknowledge her existence. He did not form an immediate connection with her like the others did, it took a while and a lot of trust to be built. Even now, Daenys does not love him like she loved the other dads.

Fathers are complicated 😪

[sprite-writes-fanfic]

When the ‘03 Turtles are in love!

🐢💙❤️2003 TMNT x Reader💜🧡🐢

Word Count: 889

CW: Gender-neutral reader as always, referred to as ‘you’, my underrated beloveds ong, (especially Donnie 💜), nothing but fluff! Turtles realizing they’re in love with you and how they act around you!! (+ confessions because yes <3)

🐢💙Leonardo💙🐢

💙 With Leo, it takes him a good while to realize he’s in love with you. It just randomly hits him when he’s meditating, the comfort you bring, the way he can lean on you, the way he’s always seemingly drawn to you! It hits him like a bus.

💙 He gets a little shy and distant with you, but don’t give up! Continue coming to him and acting like yourself, he’ll feel a bit guilty for avoiding you, but you still coming to him makes his heart flips and he’s feeling those butterflies.

💙 That’s when Leo can’t take it anymore and finally confides in Master Splinter, (which we both know that man knows when his sons are in love). Splinter is pleasantly surprised! But he’s happy to help his son sort out his feelings and even devise ways to confess to you.

💙 Finally, Leo works up the courage and asks you to go to the training dojo with him alone, to train. You two do train and by the end of it, Leo finally spills it, confessing his love to you, but also expressing his understanding if you didn’t feel the same.

💙 Pleasantly surprised when you admit to feeling the same way! Man is fist-pumping the air mentally when you confess. After that, you two spent more time together in the dojo, just talking things out and making it official with a hug, (a kiss will come later, Leo’s not ready to make that quick of a step!)

🐢❤️Raphael❤️🐢

❤️ With this emotional turtle, Raph is quick to realize, unlike his brothers, and at first; he’s frustrated. He didn’t NEED feelings, especially not towards a family friend, a human… A very beautiful human at that—

❤️ Okay, he gives up and comes to terms with the fact, Raph, the tough guy with anger issues, has soft feelings for YOU. (Bro went through the 5 stages of grief because of this/j)

❤️ And after coming to that conclusion, man is always trying to impress you, he gets closer to you, wants you to depend on him because he wants to be that someone for you! It strokes his ego quite a bit too.

❤️ It’s when he finally realizes he wants to be with you he shoots his shot. What’s the worst they could say? No? So, one night when you join him on patrol and you two are chilling on a roof, he finally confesses. And he’s straight to the point like, “Look uh, this is gonna sound weird, but I have feelings for you.”

❤️ Dude is so hyped when you say you feel the same way too. Raph isn’t the type to wait around either like Leo, on that rooftop was where you two shared (his) your first kiss.

🐢💜Donatello💜🐢

💜 When Donnie realizes, he panics a little actually. YOU are his best friend, and he’s completely shocked when he realizes that his heart thunders in his chest and his palms get sweaty when YOU are around, (*slow fade-in of the demi-romantic flag*).

💜 He tries to shut down these feelings as best as he can by working on his technology more and being distant with everyone, and I mean EVERYONE.

💜 Even then he can’t stay away for too long, he’s back to ranting and rambling about his inventions to you, and his breath hitches whenever you smile at and tell him, “Go on”, whenever he pauses and apologizes for rambling again.

💜 Donnie has to tell you, if he gets rejected now, hopefully these feelings will go away, right? He didn’t even consider the fact that you could possibly like him back, according to his statistics, the likelihood of a mutant and a human together is low!

💜 Well, when he sat you down for a serious conversation, going on to admit his feelings and saying he wouldn’t be hurt if you said no— Wait what? You were quick to interrupt him and tell him you liked him back?? He had to process a moment before he would shyly ask if you wanted to go for a small ride in the Battle Shell around town. (You two held hands while he drove. <3)

🐢🧡Michelangelo🧡🐢

🧡 Woof, Mikey on the other hand is a bit of a wild card, at first he confuses platonic with romance, but when his brothers point out to him the obvious, he’s all for it!

🧡 Mikey is the type to start reading comics and watch movies that involve romance so he has an idea of what to do, (and yes, he kicks his feet all giddy-like when he’s doing this).

🧡 After he’s obtained his knowledge, he’s quick to try and impress you and reenact some moments from the movies he’s watched, always saying quotes you probably wouldn’t understand. And when you don’t get it at first, thinking he’s just being Mikey, he’s a little bummed…

🧡 Then Raph has to point it out to him why his advances aren’t working, because he’s not really acting any different, and just tells Mikey to grow a pair and to tell you honestly. And that’s when Mikey’s new plan is sent into action, operation confession is a go!

🧡 Still a little confusing because he’s still making references but he’s got the spirit. Eventually he ends up forgetting the movie references and out-right tells you. And it’s safe to say, you guys have a roof-top date coming up here soon.

Gaaah, I’ve been obsessing over TMNT good lord. I wanted to write about them, and I’ll probably write more about them too 😭💙 Love turtle pookies ong, hope you enjoyed, and yes I posted the same day, I am motivated to write. ✍️

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (Part Six)

Previous | Master Post | Next AN: Because I wanted Danny and Jason to be the same age, I've moved the DP timeline forward six years. (If we go with their canon ages and timeline, Danny's the same age as Dick.) I'll make it make sense, but until then please ignore the possible confusion it might cause😅.

Turning, Danny held the picture frame up to show Bruce who he was talking about. Bruce glanced up and studied it for a moment before he looked at Danny. His eyes were calculating just like they had been for the past ten minutes, which might Danny add, was really annoying.

"That's my eldest son, Dick." Bruce finally answered, continuing to watch for Danny's reaction.

Danny blinked, looked down at the picture then turned to put it back. why in the world was his name Dick? like, was that actually his name or was it a nickname? it's not like Danny was judging the kid for it, but seriously, who names their kid dick?

sure, Danny used to fight ghosts named Skulker and Technis all the time, but they chose their names. Did the kid willingly choose to go by dick or were his parents unaware of what the word meant? Danny's really hoping the parents weren't aware of what it meant, because if they were? oh boy was that a bag of worms Danny wanted nothing to do with.

How old was the kid anyway? That looked like an older picture, so he probably wasn't that young anymore.

"How old is he?" Danny asks, turning to study another picture. this one was of Jason hanging out with Alfred in what looked like a kitchen. The kid was covered in flour while Alfred didn't have a single speck of dust on him. They both looked happy.

Bruce was silent for a moment, so Danny turned to look at him. Confusion and shock swirled around him, making Danny frown.

"you don't know how old he is do you?" Danny asked, glaring at Bruce. As much as Danny promised to help him, the man was making it extremely hard to do so, when every time he learns something it makes him want to punt the man into the sun.

alright, so forgetting when someone's birthday is sucks but doesn't make sense for someone like Batman, so it wasn't that exactly it's probably more along the lines of grief messing with his perception of time. yeah, that makes more sense. because if it's not, Danny's not afraid to punch the man again.

"Alright, what's his birthday?" Danny asks, making his way to sit back in the chair he had used previously.

"march 20th," Bruce grumbled, turning to glare out the window like the emo bat he was. And see? He didn't forget the date, which means, Danny was right.

"year?" Danny pushed, slumping down in his chair. It felt like he was pulling teeth with how trying to get information from the man was going. Ancients, Danny was going to go gray before they got anywhere.

"1990," Bruce replied, still glaring out the window like he was in some emo music video.

"Alright, it's 2013, so doing some basic maths, Dick is" Danny pretended to do a drumroll as he quickly calculated the dude's age. and he was a dude because he's definitely older than Danny.

"23," Danny finally announced, looking up to watch as Bruce's emotions spiraled in the air. Anger, hurt, annoyance, guilt. Yep, a full-blown meltdown is on the horizon, everyone. let's back it up, Danny's seen enough grown men cry, he doesn't need to do it again.

"Alright!" clapping his hands, Danny stood up and made his way to the door. opening it, Danny glanced out the hall and spotted Alfred finally making his way back toward them. looks like that blood analysis Bruce definitely ordered Alfred to do finally finished. good.

"Alright, mister anger issues. you need to go to bed." turning back to the room, Danny pointed at Bruce. the man stared at him, his emotions freezing in their downward spiral as he processed the words.

"I agreed," Alfred cut in before Bruce could argue against it, making Danny grin. Oh, he was so going to get along with Alfred, he just knew it.

walking over to the desk, Danny snatched one of the sticky notes and a pen. Writing his number on the paper, he handed it to Alfred, "Here you go. you get to keep it because I have a feeling you'll actually use it properly. it's my number, call me tomorrow after he gets some rest. I'll come back and we can discuss how to go about the Batman business from now on"

"you can't just-" Bruce started, cutting himself off when Alfred took the paper and promptly started guiding him out of his own office. "honestly, Master Bruce. You need your sleep, you've gotten so bad lately, that you willingly fought a child."

"I'll show myself out!" Danny called after them, watching as they turned a corner. glancing at the clock, he noticed a green sticky note. blinking, Danny made his way over. nothing was written on it. which means this was just a hint to start looking around here.

intrigued, Danny started studying the grandfather clock, wondering what clockwork could possibly want him to find. The wood overlay looked fine, and the upper door looked freshly polished. The Moon Dial and clock face looked normal, though the hour and minute hands looked slightly worn down. the glass side access panel looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

hmm, strange. the toe molding had slight scuff marks on the corner like it repeatedly hit against something. glancing around, Danny spotted matching marks on the bookshelf next to the clock. crouching down, Danny studied the marks. it was like Bruce had repeatedly moved the clock around like a door...

standing up, Danny studied the clock handles again. worn down like they had been repeatedly rearranged, but the side access panel looked practically brand new which meant the internal workings of the clock worked perfectly fine. so then why would someone have to reset the time if it wasn't broken?

unless...

carefully opening the glass upper door, Danny studied the clock face closely. the oil from human fingers usually damaged the pearl facing used in most clocks, so all Danny had to do was...

there! right below the X that meant ten, and again slightly behind the XI for eleven. which means...

moving the hour hand to right before eleven, and the minute hand to right before ten (so around minute 48.) Danny heard a click. stepping back, Danny watched as the grandfather clock swung open and revealed a passageway. glancing back to the door Alfred and Bruce had left through, Danny smiled.

"Thanks, clocky," he whispered, heading inside and closing the clock-made door behind him. If Tim was right, and he definitely was, the bat cave was below the manor, and with his enhanced eyesight, Danny could see an elevator at the end of the dark hallway, which meant this was one of the secret entrances. (he's pretty sure Batman's smart enough to have more than one entrance. it'd be pretty stupid not to.)

he had plenty of time to snoop around the Batcave now, which meant he had plenty of time to figure out how it worked and how to use that to his advantage. Bruce can't ignore him and his advice if all the bat suits go missing now, can he?

Next

[mrs-hatake]

JJK Men Crying

genre: hurt/comfort. warning: mentions of injuries, grief & loss, and self harm. relationship: m x afab reader. a.n: i love it when pretty men cry. also i didn't put sukuna cause i don't think he'd cry. he'd make you cry lmao

Toji:

Disinfected clinging heavily in the air has Toji’s nose scrunching at the foul odor. Though it is a scent of cleanliness, to Toji, it smells like death. 

Patients, doctors and nurses blur into faceless silhouettes as Toji hurries down the hallway, a sickening wave of terror welling up from his stomach with each steps. 

He stops in front of the room the nurse has directed him to earlier. Toji’s chest grows tight, making it hard to breathe, at the sight of the room number; gold faded around the edges. 

Toji’s hand slips when he grabs the door handle, his palm too clammy to grip anything. Trying again, he pushes the door with so much force that it nearly bangs against the wall. 

The rhythmic beeping reaches his ears yet Toji doesn’t move an inch. There’s a haunted look in his eyes as they stare at the unmoving form on the hospital bed. His tensed muscles only relax when he catches sight of a chest rising and falling. He moves to the bed. 

“Toji?” A voice calls his name, sounding rough from disuse. “Hey.” It continues. 

Toji stares at the woman in a catatonic stupor. Though the woman is smiling weakly at him, vibrant blues and purples steals her beauty. 

“I was worried.” That one simple statement, loaded with so much care and love, has Toji closing his eyes, going silent as he tries to drag emotion back under where he doesn’t need to feel it. 

“What’s wrong?” The woman asks, so scared, her tone voicing the fear Toji is feeling. 

A cold hand cradles his cheek, shocking Toji, forcing him to open his eyes. Her usually soft thumb is dry, riddled with tiny cuts, as it caresses his skin.

“Don’t cry.” The woman sounds distressed now, the heart monitor showcasing her heart palpitation. 

Toji doesn’t know when he started crying but it is at that moment that he cries harder, his legs giving out, forcing him on his knees as he desperately holds onto his lover’s hand, “I thought I lost you.” His fear is hidden by his lover’s palm, as if ashamed to show the world his bleeding heart.

“Oh, angel,” the woman breathes, “I’m right here. I’ll never leave you.” Though her words are quiet, small, the warmth burns bright, like the early morning sun Toji sees every day at the construction site.

Toji doesn’t stop crying but his heart does feel lighter at the promise. 

Satoru

Opening his eyes, Gojo Satoru is greeted by the concerned stare of his lover.

“Were you crying?”

Satoru blinks slowly, processing her question. A hand tentatively reaches out to him, brushing a stray tear. Satoru’s blue color is the teardrop on his fingertip. 

In a blur, his lap is occupied by a small frame. His lover’s arms wrap around him tightly like a warm blanket protecting him from whatever nightmare that has been haunting him the past several nights. 

Gojo Satoru doesn’t usually dream when he sleeps, let alone have any nightmares. But every year, every summer, for the entire season, Satoru’s concerningly short hours of sleep are haunted by the ghosts of his past, making his sleep even shorter. Yet, he never lets them affect him. 

Until today.

“I’m fine.” Satoru mutters but his body betrays him as he presses his lover closer, burying his nose into her hair. Coconut and vanilla replacing the stench of his fears as Satoru inhales the intoxicating aroma. 

“You sure, baby?” Comes the woman’s muffled question. She tries to push herself off of his chest but Satoru has her trapped. Eventually, she gives up.

They don’t know how long they remained sitting in that expensive leather chair Satoru insisted on getting despite having any free time. Though the room is silent, Satoru’s lover’s reassurances are loud. They remind Satoru that he is not alone, everyone, including herself, is here for him. That whatever has happened in the past is not his fault.

Though the words don’t breach through his thick skull, Satoru appreciates the effort nonetheless. 

Kento:

Spring, the season of love and pretty flowers.

When the cold retreats into the void and warmth slowly starts spreading its way across the air.

The trees gaining their leaves, the floors showing off their pretty petals. 

Spring, the season that symbolizes rebirth but, to Nanami Kento, reminds him of death.

Which is why he finds it incredibly ironic for the living to gift the dead flowers. Regardless of the language they spoke, the message they tried to convey, the dead cannot hear the living and Nanami Kento hates this tradition. 

A soft hand sliding into his larger one does not startle Kento. The gentle squeeze to his hand doesn’t blow away the dark cloud hanging over Kento’s head. His world is painted gray despite the colorful palette next to him.

“Ten years…”

Her voice is distant and near, whispered yet screamed. It’s all that it takes to have Kento choking on a sob. 

Kento’s head is heavy on her shoulder but she continues to support him. Kento’s gasps between cries is a haunting melody that she cannot bear to listen to yet she continues being the rock Nanami Kento leans on. 

Haibara Yuu’s gravestone is decorated with Kento’s tears and flowers from his parents. It’s a pretty sight but to her, it is disgusting. Oh, if she can only remove it and hide it somewhere far, far away where Kento cannot find it. 

Suguru:

The banging on the wooden door is a translation of her heart beating erratically. They speak of fear and dread, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. 

She tries the door knob again and again but the door still won’t open. 

She shouts Geto Suguru’s name repeatedly like a mantra asking for salvation but her prayer is lost in a song she doesn’t recognize sung in a foreign language.

It is only when the landlord of the apartment complex that her boyfriend is residing in that she is able to rush into his home, screaming his name as she frantically searches for him.

She finally finds Suguru in the bathroom, sitting on the cold tile floor by the bathtub. Crimson liquid is dripping down his arms, falling like tear drops on the same shirt she has seen him in a week ago. His often shiny hair is matted and greasy. The shine in his beautiful purple eyes have diminished, they look empty.

Swallowing the thick bile that threatened to spill over, she takes cautious steps to where Suguru is staring into space. 

“Baby,” she kneels in front of him, gently prying the razor blade from his hand, “Suguru?”

The shell of a man turns to face her but his eyes are unseeing. They don’t even notice how her dainty hands are now painted with his blood. 

“Let me see.” The woman speaks in a calm and controlled voice, masking the turmoil roiling within her as she fights back tears at the sight of her lover harming himself. 

Suguru’s wrists are marred by a disturbing array of cuts, lines slicing across the milky skin. Though the wounds aren't deep, the sight of them is enough to plunge her heart into despair. 

With a steady breath, she kneels over Suguru to open the cabinet under the sink and retrieves soft hand towels. Her hands move quickly but with deliberate care as she wraps them around Suguru's wrists, staunching the flow of blood, transfixed over the white fabric instantly turning red.

“Why would you do this to yourself, Suguru?” Though her voice is steady, a faint whisper of heartache lingers beneath the surface.

When Suguru doesn’t respond, she continues, “My sweet baby boy, why?” she chokes on a sob as she pulls her lover into her warm embrace.

“I hate it.” 

Quickly but with gentleness, she pulls back to stare into Suguru’s eyes that are rapidly filling with tears, “I want it to stop.” he continues.

“What…” The woman still refuses to cry. She needs to be strong to help Suguru. “What do you want to stop?”

That one simple question has the words cascading from Suguru’s lips like a rushing waterfall, each one tumbling forth with an overwhelming force and vivid clarity.

“My thoughts…too loud…I can’t take it anymore.”

Suguru’s desperation feels like a fist is slowly closing over heart. Her heart cries for him and she can’t help but to pull him back in her arms, lovingly kissing his forehead. 

“Suguru,” she chokes on his name, but she continues, “give it to me.” She pulls away to cup his face, staring deep into his eyes. “Okay?”

It is hard to see her past the tears clouding Suguru’s eyes but her words reached his ears, his soul. 

“Your pain, your suffering, give it all to me.” Her thumbs wipe away his tears. “I can handle it.”

Suguru’s breath hitches, his heart fluttering at the fierce determination radiating from his lover. It’s bright, so bright that he looks away. 

A small nod but it is enough to give her hope.