#all of which are unheard and unseen

[carrieway]

i wish i could write something compelling about feeling like a ghost and that i'm not real and invisible so that people would read it and see me but i cannot . so the cycle continues .

[plumadesatada]

just remembered a fic on AO3 (or more likely LJ because it had that distinct late 00's experimental vibe) that appeared double-spaced oddly, in that some paragraphs would be spaced normally and others would have double or even triple spaces in between. it was about one half of the otp getting over the other's death (or coma, can't remember which), so all the comments were about how poignant the use of visual spacing was as a means to convey all the emotional holes in the character's life.

and then the author replied like... *giggle* guys it's NOT double spaced. try selecting the whole text

and we were all like "no WAY"

but we selected the text, and yes!!!

the "holes" in the story? they were actually lines and actions from the dead/coma character's ghost, rendered invisible to the eye by the simple trick of coloring the text the exact same as the background, revealed by nothing more than a click and a drag of the mouse

a story about the profound loneliness of losing your the partner of your life and having to make do without them, without anything to fill the holes they'd left behind, suddenly became a story about the profound helplessness of seeing someone you love suffer from your absence while you are right there, unable to do anything about it, unable to communicate that you love them enough to suffer unseen and unheard with them, just to keep them company they'll never know about

it was then that I truly realized how *superior* the digital medium is to plain printed paper, how the medium and the format can add to a story.

I think about that fic about once a year. I wish I could find it again

EDIT: FOUND IT!!!! UPDATE HERE

[spider-stark]

GOLD

Aeron Bracken x Blackwood!Reader

Summary - You go sneaking through Bracken territory for some time alone with Aeron.

Warnings - mentions of blood, mentions of fighting, no real plot, hurt/comfort, subtle rivals-to-lovers, aeron grabbing boobies lmao, maybe some grammar errors idk

Word Count - 1.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

As the sun dips below the horizon, the beginnings of dusk paint the land around you in dim, muted hues. The forest buzzes with life—crickets chirp and frogs croak, rodents scurry through the undergrowth as birds-of-prey call out overhead. 

Unlike the nocturnal creatures around you, you take great care to stay quiet, fearing that if you don’t, the very soil beneath your boots might finally recognize you as an intruder. 

So you keep every footfall careful and deliberate; avoiding sticks and leaves in favor of plush, noiseless grass. Even your breaths are calculated, soft as the spring breeze rustling the leaves overhead. 

After all, you’re playing a dangerous game venturing this far from home. To be several miles from the vastness of Blackwood Vale, traipsing on the wrong side of the boundary stones, no less… You were gambling with your life—fair game for any Bracken man wishing to bloody their sword with Blackwood blood. As the daughter of Lord Samwell Blackwood, you would make a fine prize, too. 

But you had grown comfortable in these woods the past several months. Familiar, too—learning which paths were best avoided and which clearings were most often used for hunting or goofing-off. You learned to remain invisible, weaving through the trees like a wraith—invisible, unseen and unheard, as you drift towards your usual meeting spot. 

Well—mostly invisible, you suppose. 

You’re less than a few feet from your spot��a glistening creek branching off from the Red Fork, several miles off any main trail—when a twig snaps! behind you. 

Your spine turns to steel, every muscle locking up as alarm bells roar in your mind. A second too late, you reach for the dagger at your thigh. Trembling fingers hardly graze the hilt before an arm wraps itself around your waist, tugging you backwards into a crushing embrace. 

A single finger jabs at your chest, just off-center between your breasts, pressing through the thin fabric of your tunic. 

Just above your heart, you realize as it hammers against your ribs. 

“Got you.” Aeron’s voice quells your nerves, warmth tickling your skin as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. “If I were anyone else,” he murmurs, “you would be dead right now.” 

He taps his finger against your chest—once, then twice—to emphasize his point. As much as it annoys you, you know that he’s right. Anyone else and they wouldn’t have hesitated to send a blade tearing through your chest. 

You won’t admit it, though. 

“You scared me,” you grumble instead, trying to sound annoyed with him. It’s a hopeless objective—it’s too hard to be upset with him when his lips brush over your still-racing pulse, kissing up your neck. 

“Did I?” Aeron asks, playing coy. “Strange. I thought you Blackwoods claimed to be fearless.” 

Teeth graze against your earlobe, nibbling lightly. You bite your lip, twisting around in his hold so that you’re face-to-face. “And I thought Brackens were all insipid creatures,” you tease him. “So I suppose we both deviate from the norm of our Houses, don’t we?” 

Aeron laughs—a sound so sweet it makes your teeth ache. “I suppose so.” 

He pulls you closer, hands falling low on your hips. In all your life, you’ve never met someone so warm before—the sheer closeness of your bodies like standing too close to the edge of a fire. It sets your every nerve ablaze, desire coiling in your belly like a fiery serpent. 

He presses his forehead to yours and, for a moment, you assume he’s going to kiss you. 

Instead, your breaths only mingle in the space between you, his lips barely grazing yours as he whispers, “Still—I need you to be more careful. Especially here.” 

Here. 

That one word is like a bucket of water, dousing the flames lapping at your skin. Desire swiftly turns to nausea at the realization that, even in the arms of your beloved, you were still unwelcome in this part of the Riverlands. Still an intruder. 

You step back, Aeron’s hands falling from your hips. “As if you’re one to lecture me about being careful.” 

Neatly-groomed brows knit together as he watches you turn your back, abandoning him in favor of the gurgling creek. Confusion laces his words as he hurries after you. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“That Benji has a big mouth.” You sit in your usual spot by the creek's edge, your legs stretched out in front of you. You look up at Aeron with a raised brow. “Did you truly think he wouldn’t tell me about you insulting him this morning?” 

“He was trespassing on Bracken land,” Aeron argues. 

You give him a flat look that screams: As if you’re one to talk. 

Aeron had snuck onto Blackwood land more times than you could count—with far more nefarious intentions than Benji. If your brother ever found out about all the times Aeron had snuck into your bedchambers at Raventree… 

“Well he also called me a spineless dolt,” Aeron grumbles. His lips, naturally flushed and oh-so-kissable, turn to a sullen pout. “What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and take it?” 

You fight the urge to scream Yes! at the top of your lungs. 

Instead, you draw in a breath. “You know better than to get into it with him, Aeron. You said it yourself: Blackwoods are fearless—especially Benji.” 

He shakes his head, strands of sandy-colored hair brushing his shoulders. “Feckless is more like it.” 

“Tread lightly, Bracken.” You bristle, shooting him a look of warning. “He’s still my brother.” 

He doesn’t apologize—and you don’t expect him to. After all, both of you know that there’s some truth to his words. 

Benji has always been… difficult. 

Quick to anger and slow to forgive, he was one of many reasons why you kept your feelings for Aeron hidden. 

Your father could be persuaded to accept such a betrothal, you think. After all, it was common—if a bit futile—for Blackwoods and Brackens to wed in the name of peace. At the very least, for the sake of your happiness, he would consider it. 

But Benji… 

“I know I cannot expect you to just let him walk all over you,” you tell Aeron, a bit softer now. “But you know how Benji is.” You turn to the water by your feet. It ebbs and churns, bubbling as it laps at the stones lining the edge. “How detached he gets.” 

It petrifies you, sometimes. How, in a fight, Benji becomes someone else entirely. Should he ever decide to do more than simply taunt Aeron, you know without doubt which of them would survive such a fight. 

“If the two of you ever… If Benji hurts you–” 

Tears sting the back of your throat, the heavy words clinging to your tongue like molasses. You don’t want to think about that—but you can’t stop, either. Silver lines your eyes, tears threatening to spill over as Aeron drops to the ground beside you. 

Without hesitation, he tells you, “You’re right.” Soft, uncalloused hands gently cup your face, urging you to look at him. He brushes a thumb along the apple of your cheek. “I was careless—to think only of my pride instead of what it might do to you if your brother…” Aeron pauses, thinking. “If he went too far. For you, I’ll take better care to hold my tongue around him.” 

Your voice is quiet, hardly perceptible over the gurgling water, when you say, “Do you promise?” 

A childish thing to ask, perhaps. 

Yet Aeron obliges without question. 

“I swear it on the Gods.” 

Slowly, relief begins to untangle the knot in your stomach. 

“But,” Aeron’s lips quirk into a small, teasing smile, “only if you swear to be more cautious when coming here. It seems you’ve gotten far too comfortable wandering through Bracken territory.” A bit more solemn, he adds, “You should walk with your dagger out, at the ready, just in case—at least while you’re still a Blackwood.” 

A wrinkle forms between your brow. “While I’m still a Blackwood?” You ask, amusement dancing in your tone as you echo his earlier words, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“That you won’t be a Blackwood forever—eventually, your father will have to marry you off,” Aeron drones, his hands falling from your face to your waist. “Such is the natural order of things.” 

You try not to giggle as he starts pawing at you, pulling you onto his lap, your thighs caging his hips. “True—but I had no idea you spent so much time thinking of my future.” 

Aeron’s hands dip lower, moving from your waist to slip beneath the hem of your tunic. “I’m always thinking of you.” 

“Have you any particular House in mind, then?” Brushing a lock of sandy hair from his face, you jest, “I can pass your suggestions along to my father.” 

Fingertips trace along your ribcage, inching higher and higher. His palms graze your breasts and suddenly breathing becomes a difficult task—the warmth of his touch reigniting the familiar spark in your belly. 

“Well—” he leans in close, smooth lips hovering over yours—“I’m quite partial to how you might look in gold.” 

“Careful,” you warn—though it's interrupted by a hiss as he toys with your nipples, rolling and pinching, grinning at your reaction. “That almost sounds like a proposal, Bracken.” 

Aeron nearly moans into your mouth as your thighs tense, rolling your hips against his, his voice gruff as he asks, “And would that be such a horrible thing?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer. Doesn’t want it, maybe. 

Instead, he catches your lips with his. You melt into it—his touch, his taste. His tongue glides against yours, your fingers tangling in his hair and—for a moment—you let everything else fall away, your fears and worries fading into insignificance.  

No, you think. That wouldn’t be horrible at all.

a/n - so I actually ended up not liking this at all once I got about halfway through editing---honestly, something about the ending just is not vibing for me and there really just isn't any true plot here lol. but, with that being said, I had already written it so I decided to go ahead and post it because there needs to be more aeron/amos bracken content in the world. and yes, I did totally just use the name aeron because I like it more than the name amos lmao.

anyways, hope you got some sort of enjoyment out of this! time for me to go write more benji fics🫡

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO. ( HOTD x READER ) [ Pt. 2 ]

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Niece! Targ! ( Strong ) Reader suggest song to listen to whilst reading: Like Real People Do by Hozier or Never Love an Anchor by The Crane Wives prompt : would you make a part 2 for "like real people do" where after the fight reader gets really depressed and gives up trying to talk to him so he finally realizes his mistakes and tries to be a better person for her. she's still weary of him so doesn't really speak to him outside of formalities which frustrates him. but during that period aemond tries to make a move on her but he's a really good friend and makes her feel wanted and loved so when aegon watches them dance during a feast he kinda snaps and they finally argue talk their feelings out with them making up by the end and maybe if smut if you want to write it??? thank you! word count: 1, 000+ words

You listened to him a little too well, like a loyal pup listening to its Master. You avoided him like he was the Stranger himself. Your once soft glances. The subtle smiles whenever you looked at him. The way your fingers would brush against his. The way you would tend to him. The way you would set out his clothes after a night out in Flea Bottom. 

Everything that you had done for him. It was all over and done. He had ruined it all with his pathetic temper tantrum. He regretted it. He fucking regretted it all as days turned into a fortnight. A fortnight was dragging into a full moon. And he was starting to crave having you around once again. He craved you more than he craved wine. You were now a ghost in his life. Passing by, unseen and unheard. 

He was sure that soon enough you would come back to him. You'd snap out of this little daze. You'd come back to him. You'd coddle him, just like you used to. Everything, everything, everything would be alright. You'd be back and this would be nothing more than a small fight in the past.

Watching you and Aemond dance together, Aemond was so gentle with you, his hands and gaze never strayed into another inappropriate. Aemond was a true gentleman, he would never dare to dishonor you. He always treated you with such respect and kindness. Brushing it off as nothing more than a cordial dance between a brother and sister-in-law, Aegon takes a sip of his wine, turning his back to the two of you. 

Hearing soft laughter come from behind him, he snaps his head back towards you too in an instant, eyes sharp. He did not care. In the weeks of your avoidance, he was fine! He was fucking fine! But, why the fuck did you look so happy with him? You looked happy with Aemond, of all people. You looked really happy with Aemond. Happier than he had ever made you in the years of your marriage together. 

“They look happy together.” Helaena smiles, “Do they not, Aegon?”

“They do.” He grumbles, scowling deeply. 

“I am happy to see her so happy once again.” Helaena nods mindlessly, “She was so upset before.”

“She was?” He raises a brow. 

“Yes, she was. Aemond though, he was very kind to her. They spoke a lot. She has been smiling since she had spoken to him. Tis’ good.” Helaena smiles, unaware of her words.

Narrowing his eyes at the sight of you and Aemond dancing, he shifts in his seat, tightening his grip on his chalice. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t fuckign upset in the slightest. Why the fuck would anyone get upset at such news like this? He wasn’t. He wasn’t. 

“What of?” He asks, masking his displeasure. 

“Dragon’s.” Helaena smiles, “Other things. But, most of dragon’s.”

“Dragon’s?” 

“Mm-hmm, she has always had an interest in dragon’s. Specifically Vhagar.” Helaena shakes her head, “She thinks that Dragons and their riders can share memories of Old should their bond be so tightly intertwined.” 

“Well that’s stupid.”

“I do not think so. If dragon dreams are true, tis’ no surprise if such a thought could be true.” Helaena argues, “If you spoke to her, you would know of this.”

Clenching his jaw tightly at Helaena’s subtle jab, he trails his eyes back onto you, seeing just how happy you looked with Aemond. His heart clenched tightly. It should be him in Aemond’s place. He should be the one getting you so happy and comfortable. He should be the one listening to the stupid thoughts. Not Aemond. Chugging all of the wine in his chalice, he slams the chalice down hard on the table, standing up from his seat. 

No. Nope. Not a chance. Not a fucking chance. Aemond would not take his place. He could not, no he would not be replaced by his younger brother. You were his wife. You were supposed to be his little pest. You were supposed to be his. Running a hand through his hair, he stalks towards the two of you, keeping a calm facade for your sake. He would win you back. If he could seduce whores in Flea Bottom, he could seduce you back. 

“If you do not mind, I would like to have my wife back, dear brother.” He cuts in, his voice smooth with a hint of iciness.

“Oh..” You murmur, the smile on your face dying in an instant. 

“If the Lady wishes, then I shall end our dance.” Aemond glares at him, “After all, she may be tired of dancing.”

“She is my wife.”

“Yes, she is. But, we’ve been dancing for so long.” Aemond argues, “Mayhaps, you should ask her if she wishes to keep dancing or if she would like some wine.”

Seeing the subtle glare his brother gave him, he puffs his chest up in defense, attempting to intimidate him. He was the King and your husband. He had every right to be around you and ask you for a dance. Narrowing his eyes hard at him, Aemond motions to you with his eye, trying to make him understand. What the fuck was he trying to say? Clenching his jaw in confusion, it suddenly clicks in his head what Aemond was suggesting. A way for him to speak to you. Aemond was not attempting to steal you

“Um, Y/n, would you like to dance with me?” 

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You softly shake your head, “I have had my fill of dancing.”

“Then, may I suggest you join me at our table for some wine and fresh air?” He offers again, attempting to find some middle ground with you. 

As tempted as he was to sling you over his shoulder, he knew that it would only worsen the distance between the two of you, and maybe earn him a hard punch to the nose from Aemond. He had to be smart. He had to be the complete and utter opposite of himself. Looking at you a little hopeful, he holds his hand out for you to take, praying that you would at least grant him that. 

“I thought you wished for me to leave you be?” You murmur, “Twas’ hard to not understand that when you were shouting at me.”

“Mayhaps, I was wrong.” He gulps, suddenly feeling nervous. 

“But, you said to me⎯” 

“I want to be alone, but alone with you.” He stutters, “Um, that is if you will allow it to me.”

Cowering slightly as you stare him down, he retracts his hand, now aware of Aemond’s lack of presence. It was just you and him. Though, it was not a comforting thought. Clasping his hands behind his back, he slowly looks you over, eyes trailing down your gown.

It was purple with pearls sewing into the skirt. You always wore green to match with him. His gut churns painful, now aware of just how much distance had brewed in the weeks apart. You used to be so intertwined with him. 

“I do not wish to be around you any longer. Tis’ clear my presence is a bother.” You argue, staring him down like he was your prey. 

“No, I do not wish for that any longer.” He mumbles, like a petulant child.

“You do not?” 

“I do not. I wish for us to act like real people do. To not be like how we once were.” He explains, “I wish to change. For there to be no distance.”

“Bold words do not move me, Aegon. Tis’ actions that do.”

Nodding his head in agreement at your words, he knew that he had royal fucked up. Hell, even his own dragon refused to look at him for what he had done, siding with your dragon. He had to earn your respect. But, he was willing to do it. Swallowing his pride, he looks at you shamefully, seeing the hate within your eyes.

You now looked at him with the same hate that everyone else in the Realm did. It was not as pleasing or comforting as he had wanted or though it would be. It felt shameful. It felt heartbreaking. You were supposed to look at him with love, not hatred.

“I..”

“You what, Aegon?” You snap back, annoyed.

“I…Tell me what you wish for me to say and do. Tell me what man you wish for me to be, and I shall be him for you.” He pleads, using the same words you had said to him weeks ago.

----

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Gīsītsos (little ghost)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Fingering, dubcon, smut. Word count: ~3.7k

Summary: As part of the Red Keep's serving staff, she knows it is better to remain unseen by the family she tends to. Unfortunately for her, an incident involving the second of the Targaryen sons means his gaze is now firmly fixed upon her.

Author's note: For @targaryen-dynasty's sleepover challenge. I was given the AU "meet cute" and the prompt "we have to be quiet". I have put my own little spin on both of these to suit my preference for canon and my particular writing style. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on notifications. Community labels are for cops.

There is an unspoken rule among the serving staff of the Red Keep; remain unseen and unheard whenever possible. Move as a spectre through the castle, do not draw attention to the mess you are employed to clean up. Those they serve do not wish to be reminded of their imperfections. Blissful ignorance is placed upon the pristine condition of the chambers they return to at the end of each day. They have always been that way, how could they not be? But beneath it lies an undercurrent of I do not wish to see it, do not make me look.

She is content to remain out of sight and mind of the Targaryen family, though her work is thankless, there is serenity to be found in the duties of a maidservant. As long as she completes the tasks assigned to her, then she is otherwise unbothered, and she considers herself fortunate to have a comparatively easy workload to some of the others.

The maidservants that attend to Prince Aegon’s bedchamber are ordered to work in pairs, partly because the mess he so often leaves behind is work enough for two, but also because he is known to sleep late, and there is safety in numbers. A chill runs down her spine at the memory of the whisperings that had passed between the staff about Dyana, brought before the Queen and forced to drink moon tea, before being relieved of her employment from the Keep. From that point on, the maidservants were forbidden from entering his rooms alone, lest they find themselves victim of the Prince’s wandering hands and lustful appetite.

There is no such danger to be found within the sleeping quarters of Prince Aemond, which she is in charge of tending to each day. He makes her job almost too easy, but she does not allow her guilt to weigh heavily enough upon her that she would ask for additional duties, instead she gives thanks to the Seven for this small mercy and ensures she finishes each day having completed her tasks to an impeccable standard. 

As she tugs the crisp white sheets of the bed firmly back into place each morning, there is no lingering body heat or scent to be found, indicating he has been awake for hours. She wonders if he sleeps at all, considering the unrumpled state of his bedding. When she strips the sheets off to change them once a week, there are no personal effects that fall loose, no trace that the Prince she serves exists at all. He is as much an apparition as she is.

When she is finished making up the bed or delivering the old sheets to the laundress, she sweeps the ashes from the hearth and readies the fireplace for Aemond’s return. Aside from that, there is little else to do besides lightly dust the shelves and reorganise the books placed upon his table. She never once sees the Prince, nor does he see her.

The most strenuous of jobs is the one she currently finds herself doing; the once weekly wash of the bedchamber floor, which requires her to get down upon her hands and knees with a brush and scrub the flagstones with a mixture of hot water and lye. The floor is hard upon her knees, her back aching, and knuckles sore from the combination of the soap and how tightly she grips the brush.

Satisfied that there is not an inch left unclean, she drops the scrubbing brush into the bucket, groaning softly as her knees twinge in protest as she stands. She swipes at the perspiration upon her forehead with the back of her hand, before reaching behind her to soothe ache in her lower back.

She freezes as her elbow collides with something on the desk, her heart feeling as though it stops beating within her chest as she hears the heavy splash of it fall into the bucket behind her, splattering dirty water against her skirt.

Snapping herself out of her shock, she quickly turns, seeing she has knocked a book from the table into the water she had been using to wash the floor. Dread swirls in her belly as she stoops to lift it out, her mind running rampant with thoughts of how much trouble she’ll be in if she has ruined one of Prince Aemond’s belongings. At best, she would lose her job. At worst, she is unsure, but she does not wish to fall foul of the man that rides the world’s largest dragon.

Drying off the leatherbound cover with her apron, she is relieved to see her swift action has prevented any serious damage, though the pages within are sodden. She cannot return it to the desk in this condition, so she tucks the book under her arm and picks up the bucket, walking quickly out of the Prince’s chambers, and back towards the servants’ quarters. If she can get it dried and return it in time, then hopefully he will be none the wiser to her mishap.

The scullion keeps the fire in the shared space ablaze all day, and she settles in front of it, opening the dampened book, careful not to place it so close that the parchment might singe. Happy to see the water has not soaked through far enough to smudge the ink, she turns the pages carefully while they dry, her eyes scanning the words. It is a tome of philosophy, far beyond the realm of her comprehension. It serves as a reminder of the divide between her and the Prince, she is beneath such intellectual pursuits. She imagines he would be infuriated that a lowly maidservant would ever dare to read it, and finds herself hunching over the book as it dries, subconsciously concealing it from view, as though she is engaging in something forbidden and shameful.

After an hour, the heat of the fire has returned the book to its original state, or at least as close as it’s going to get. She makes haste to return it to where it belongs, hoping that Prince Aemond will not yet have returned to his chambers. Her skin is heated, a combination of having been so close to the open fireplace for an hour and nervousness at the idea of being caught.

She enters the bedchamber without knocking, expecting it to still be empty, and moves swiftly on light feet, returning the book back to the desk it had laid upon previously.

“An enjoyable read, was it?”

The voice is soft, yet its sinister edge sends a shiver up her spine, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She turns slowly, keeping her head bowed, not daring to meet the unblinking stare of the One Eyed Prince.

“Your Grace,” she utters meekly, “please accept my apologies. I did not mean to intrude.”

“And you did not answer my question either.”

She dares to look up then, watching in wide eyed horror as he walks slowly towards her, dressed in his sparring attire, his expression impassive.

Swallowing thickly, ignoring everything within her that desperately wants to lower her gaze, she forces herself to hold it. “I did not read it, I swear, I would never be so discourteous.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, standing tall in front of her, “a pity. ‘Tis an interesting text. So, tell me, what were you doing with it?”

He is standing so close to her, she can feel the tickle of his breath upon her flesh, see the angry, red indentation of the scar that runs the length of the left hand side of his face, disappearing beneath the leather patch that covers his eye. There is something in the way he looks at her that makes her want to shrink into herself, but she fears she has forever shrugged off the shroud of invisibility that has until now protected her. His eye is piercing, a silent threat. I see you.

She considers lying, but decides it will be worse for her than simply telling the truth, if he catches her out. “I…I accidentally got the book wet while I was cleaning. I took it away to the servants’ quarters to dry it.”

Aemond leans his body into hers, and she can feel the warmth that radiates from his chest, smell the sweat that lingers on his skin from his exertion in the training yard. She screws her eyes shut, icy fingers of fear gripping her insides as she awaits her punishment, but then the heat of him is gone.

Slowly opening her eyes, she sees that he is still standing in front of her, but his attention is now focused upon his book as he flips through the pages, studying it for signs of damage. He had simply reached behind her to retrieve it. The relief that floods her is enough to make her want to laugh, but she knows better, biting it back as she exhales heavily through her nose.

Satisfied that his book is unruined, he snaps it shut, holding it with both hands as he looks at her once more. “Are you always this clumsy?”

She gapes at this, white hot embarrassment radiating from head to toe. “N-no, never. It was an accident, Your Grace, I swear it.”

He smirks, cocking his head. “Perhaps I ought to keep a closer eye on you?”

Please, no.

She wants to leave, to be away from the intensity of how he looks upon her, to have him forget her face and allow her to go back to being invisible.

“I promise I will take greater care in future, Your Grace. I apologise. Can I go?”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “I do not know. Can you?”

This is humiliating. Is he getting some sort of satisfaction from this?

“If that will be all, Your Grace.”

She bows her head to him and hurries from the room, feeling her heartbeat in her throat with every step that she takes. She can sense his eye upon her, boring a hole into the back of her, long after she has left his chambers, and it fills her with a sense of unease for the rest of the day. Her only solace is that she can return to her duties upon the morrow without having to see him.

However, as she enters the bedchamber the following morning she is horrified to find the Seven have decided her spell of good fortune has come to its end. Prince Aemond still occupies the space, standing at the foot of the bed as he fastens his tunic. Halting her steps, she lingers uncertainly, not knowing what she ought to do.

He stares at her as he continues to dress, not making any moves to alleviate her discomfort, and she takes a tentative step back.

“Should I come back?” She asks warily, glancing over her shoulder towards the door - it has never appeared so inviting.

“No need,” he assures her, “do what you need to.”

She hesitates a moment longer, but realising she is in no position to protest, she begins the task of turning down the bed. She can feel him looking at her the entire time, making her feel self conscious. There has never been an audience to spectate over her daily tasks before, and she moves as though she is suspended in honey, afraid to make a mistake while he is watching, despite the fact that these are duties she has performed hundreds of times before.

To her frustration, he moves as slowly as she does, unhurriedly clasping on his sword belt and pulling on his boots, watching her all the while, but never speaking a word. It is not until she begins sweeping away the ashes from the fireplace that he finally takes his leave, silently striding from the room without addressing her further.

For the first time since she entered Aemond’s chambers that morning she feels as though she can breathe, although a voice in the back of her mind tells her she has not seen the last of Aemond, and he certainly has no desire to see less of her.

Over the next few days, he is there every time she arrives, either in the process of dressing, or still laying in bed, causing her to turn away, ashamed at the way excitement flutters in her lower belly at the sight of his well defined bare chest.

He is doing this on purpose, she knows he is, abusing the imbalance of power between them, because she cannot ask him to stop. He is not really even doing anything wrong; it is not uncommon for maidservants to be in the presence of those they serve as they perform their duties, yet there is something about this that feels completely improper. The way his stare lingers upon her, stalking her as though she is prey, it both frightens her and fills her with a sense of mortification, because she knows that, deep down, there is a part of her that likes the fact that his attention is on her. The veil between them has been lifted, and now that she has gotten to know what resides on the other side, at least a little, she thinks of nothing else. It is both exciting and terrifying to have someone in such a position of authority so interested in her and what she does.

It is the day she strips the bed in order to place fresh sheets upon it, and she enters the bedchamber prepared to have to wait for the Prince to vacate it first. However, she finds that he is already gone for the day. Unsure if it is relief or disappointment that she feels, she immediately begins to pull back the bedding, deciding she would prefer not to dwell on the hollow feeling that has settled within her chest.

As she tugs the bedsheet loose from beneath the corner of the mattress, a small piece of parchment flutters from it, landing softly on the flagstones beside the wooden bedframe. Nothing has ever fallen from Aemond’s bed before, he is much too tidy, and so her curiosity is immediately piqued.

Plucking it from the floor, her mouth runs dry at the words she finds penned delicately in black ink.

Though I am absent, I think of you.

Was this meant for her to find? She feels foolish for considering such a notion, and yet she cannot shift the idea that it might be. Her hands shake as she holds the note, her mind reeling with thoughts of what she ought to do with it: keep it, cast it into the fireplace, put it back and pretend she has not seen it?

The latter is impossible, he would notice the fresh sheets upon the bed and know that she has found it. Perhaps she is being presumptuous, and this has been left for him by a bedmate? She decides to simply place it upon the desk, and leave it up to the Prince to decide its fate.

Though she attempts to continue her day as normal, thoughts of Aemond and the contents of his note will not allow her any peace. She wonders if it is indeed her that he is thinking of, and if it would satisfy him to know that he haunts her mind in equal measure. If only she had never knocked that wretched book into the bucket, then she would be free of this torment.

Aemond is fully clothed as she walks into his rooms the following day, standing beside his desk. There is absolutely no reason for him to linger, but she knows precisely why he does, her suspicions confirmed when she spies the note clasped between his fingers.

“You read it?” He asks, lifting his gaze to meet hers as she enters.

“Was I not supposed to?” She asks quietly, setting down the basket which contains the brushes and rags she uses for sweeping and dusting.

“I left it where only you would find it,” he retorts, allowing the parchment to flutter back down upon the desk. “What do you think?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” she responds simply, attempting to keep her focus on meticulously unloading her supplies.

“Leave that,” he orders coolly. “Come here.”

She trembles as she steps slowly towards him, and he rounds on her, caging her between himself and the desk, its wooden edge biting into her lower back.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. 

The trace of his fingertip leaves a trail of heat in its wake. She feels dizzy, overwhelmed, the urge to run and her body’s insistence at remaining rooted to the spot at direct odds with one another.

“Please,” she whispers, “do not. It is improper.”

His hand drops to his side and he regards her with a look of amusement. “I am not my brother. I will not take anything that is not given freely. But I suspect you want this as much as I do. Tell me I am wrong.”

“Your Grace, I–I…”

The words die in her throat, what can she say? A maidservant cannot speak of her desire for the Prince she serves. How can she give voice to the fact that since he first acknowledged her, he has plagued her every waking thought?

“Say the word, and things shall go back to as they were before, we shall be strangers once more.”

That is certainly the easier of the two options, and yet the idea of having to live without his attention now she knows the sweet torment of what it is to have it seems unfathomable to her. She is playing a dangerous game, treading a knife’s edge, placing herself directly in harm’s way, and the words she speaks next will forever change her life’s trajectory, but as she stares up into his piercing blue eye her judgement is too clouded for her to mind.

“I do not want that,” she says earnestly.

“I want you to beg for it,” he tells her, the slightest hint of malice in his tone.

She feels a stickiness between her thighs, a dull throbbing ache in her core that makes her nerves sing for release. Her voice is foreign to her, pathetic sounding as the single utterance of “please” tumbles from her lips.

“Please what?” Aemond asks, tilting his head, mocking her as he looms over her, keeping her pinned against the desk behind her.

Under ordinary circumstances, she would feel ashamed by such lewd behaviour, but these are no ordinary circumstances, and her actions are driven solely by desire, so she feels no chagrin as she allows herself to murmur “please touch me”.

The Prince’s deft fingers make quick work of moving up her skirt, ghosting along the inside of her thigh as he goes, causing her to suck in a shaky breath as she grips his shoulders for support.

She mewls helplessly as his middle and index fingers work their way beneath her smallclothes, dragging through her silken folds, wet with arousal.

Aemond hums in appreciation as his digits explore her, his entire hand moving beneath the thin cotton of her undergarments, cupping her mound. She exhales a shocked gasp as he pushes two fingers forcefully inside of her.

His free hand clasps over her mouth, muffling her sounds, as he works his fingertips inside of her at a lazy pace. “We have to be quiet,” he tells her, “or we will get caught, and we cannot have that.”

She nods in understanding, whimpering against his palm as his thumb begins to circle her pearl, the pumping of his fingers increasing in pace, the sticky sounds of her arousal accompanying her stifled whines of pleasure.

They have not even shared a kiss, there is no romance to be found here, but she does not mind. If anything, the depravity of the act serves to heighten the sensations and renders her more responsive to his touch.

His eye bores into hers, the pupil so large it almost eclipses the blue of it, his lips parted slightly as his nostrils flare. He crooks his fingers, brushing against a spot inside of her that causes her to buck against his hand. He grins wickedly, speeding up his movements both inside of her and against her bud.

The pleasurable ache she feels building winds tightly within her gut, and her thighs tremble with the effort of keeping her upright. Her fingernails dig into the fabric of Aemond’s tunic, as she feels her body tense in preparation for what’s to come.

With a final press of his fingers, she falls apart, her cry almost silenced by his hand over her mouth as she breathes erratically through her nose. She tightens around him in quick pulses as waves of warm relief pass through her body, making her pliant against him. 

She maintains her grasp on his shoulders, not trusting her shaking legs to keep her upright as he releases her mouth and withdraws his hand from beneath her skirt, his fingers glistening with her release.

He tuts, examining them carefully as he holds them up between them both. “What a mess you’ve made”, he says condescendingly, pressing them against her lips and forcing them into her mouth. The taste of herself upon her tongue is tart, the very idea of what she is doing lewd to her. “Something else for you to clean up,” he coos, watching as she sucks her essence from his fingers.

With these words she is brought crashing back down to earth as she is reminded of the power imbalance between them. She will always be the woman who tends to his messes, who serves him, except now she is also a vessel for his pleasure and, whatever the outcome of that may be, it is too late now to take it back. He has seen her, fully, and she will only ever see of him what he allows her to.

[veloursdor]

the thing about larys strong is that i think he's been lonely his entire life, lonelier than even he realised/admitted to himself. he craves connection, someone to see him for who he is. and that's what's been guiding most of his actions throught the entire time we've known him.

when he saw alicent being unheard and unseen, he tried to form a connection with her as he saw himself in her (through manipulations of course, but his intention there when saying "i could be your ally" were sincere). but she rejected him (by refusing to see him as a man, by being horrified at his true self (the harrenhal fire), etc) and thus he grew to resent her and want to control her/humiliate her like she "humiliated him", probably thinking it was enough because of the power she gave him.

but then viserys died and alicent's power died with him.

spoilers for season 2 of house of the dragon below the cut

i think his "love" for her... changed or was put on the back of his mind after 2x04, especially after he sees the moon tea and she's in pain. when he asks her about criston, his reaction to her words is as if he is confused, as if he's recalculating what he thought of her because he's seeing her in a whole new light.

and maybe he is seeing her truly for the first time ever.

he said "you and i are the same", was always listening in on her conversations to gather information, maybe even convincing himself by doing so that she truly was like him. but, i think that, when larys says "you have not been yourself" is his way of saying "who are you? are you who i've always thought you were or someone i do not know?" and has to change his view of her, of what he convienced himself he saw in her.

maybe he sees that he's been living in a lie made of his own words.

so, when the council scene happens, he pities her and rejects her idea, because it has no ground and she's grasping at straws. (i do think he does feel sorry for rejecting her but he also doesn't have enough solid ground with aemond as regent (his position in the small council is fairly new) and slighting aemond would cost him the power he has, so he stays quiet and looks away).

however, he also manages to drive a nail to alicole's coffin but he walks away without looking back at the mess it left.

they then don't share a scene at all for the rest of the season.

from then on all his scenes are with aegon, and we see a side of larys we haven't seen before.

ageon gave him power (of course larys manipulated aegon with the Hand comment) because of his "loyalty" following blood and cheese (i still believe larys "let it happen") and made him his master of whispers. he placed larys in the small council (when alicent never did in the 6 years she acted as regent) and gave him status outside of the dungeons. he "brought him [larys] out of the shadows" in a way.

the show has made a point to tell us, since episode one of season two, that larys has been looking at aegon the same way he used to look at alicent in season one, staring him down as if he could see what he's made of, constantly analysing and calculating how to best approach him.

he made small attempts at conversations and funny lines ("that castle is more crippled than me") as the whole alicent thing is going on.

and then the battle of rook's rest happened.

with aegon barely holding on, we have a scene where larys is honest, vulnerable, sincere maybe for the first time ever (yes there's manipulation, but also genuine compassion). he sees the struggles aegon will have to face because he lived them himself.

like with alicent in the weirdwood, he tried to form a connection with aegon. but where alicent "rejected" his true self, aegon instead listened to what larys was saying, saw the truth in it and raged, which made larys feel seen and heard, beyond manipulation and twisted words, probably for the first time in his life

larys, for all his talk that love is a downfall, craves connection, the desire to not be alone in the world. he does feel love.

and whereas alicent rejected his love and was disgusted by his true self, aegon welcomed his help, invited his advice, and embraced his aid to become stronger

i think larys will be loyal to him as long as aegon allows his love and it does not fester into resentment, like his love for alicent did

[sscarletvenus]

GUN IN LOOKISM 506 ANALYSIS? WELL, SORT OF. mostly me yapping.

starting off with these Charles Choi lines said to Eugene...

during Kenta's backstory montage in the second affiliate, we see Gun as a child has already attained UI stage. physically, he has from the start (an interesting narrative choice i believe) been set apart as someone who has ascended mortal thresholds. no one in the story until now has his degree of UI proficiency, and the stage itself remained unseen or unheard of until Daniel reaches it.

in some ways, there is something eerily non-human about this particular manifestation of his strength. his existence is forever a pariah in the realm of humanity.

aside from the morphological louche qualities, Gun's ideals and thoughts have never aligned with the either the minds of his successor candidates or friends.

everyone in this story follows or strives to achieve certain purpose. revenge, romance, family, friends, self-preservation, money, power... all of which can ultimately be rounded off to humane desires and needs.

not Gun. Never. what he does have is, a morbid obsession with death, a frantic fascination to kill or be killed.

human nature is typically averse to the idea of death, which most perceive as an end. we know little about Gun's actual discernment of death. maybe it is linked to his yakuza upbringing, where death is matter of inches, everyday lived on knife's edge. to be subjected to a lifestyle of abject horror as a child irreversibly changes your psyche, after you have become so familiar with death, you associate some sentimentality with it. death is the only constant. so maybe, just maybe, he seeks it as comfort. as relief.

for him to kill is the greatest sincerity, and he displays this same sincerity to his master, i.e., Kenta's father. it's not cruel for him, battle is simply a means of honoring someone he respects. it's too terrifying to be comprehend by the mortal mind (Kenta cannot), but humans have never known the minds of gods or devils.

enacting violence is the most intimacy he can muster, as has been seen throughout the story. for all the atrocities he has inflicted upon the crewheads, he nurtures them because they show promise. he keeps them alive in hopes that someday they too can pay their respects to their master, kill him and reciprocate his outmost sincerity, show their devotion just like he has.

he is enraged and disappointed because they have another primary purpose that makes killing him secondary, he is infuriated because they fail to be sincere in annihilating him.

maybe this is why he's the way he is about UI Daniel, another inhumane creature of pure instinct who is not bound by man's fickleness towards death. hence the psychosexual infatuation.

"Let's kill each other," is what Gun says, upon meeting someone cursed by the same fate of never being human, such as himself.

Gun is insepreable from the idea of death in comic. perhaps i will make a more coherent and comprehensible post on the same some other day.

[tragedybunny]

hehehe~ perhaps a cute fic with reader and Astarion and he talks about all the parties he used to go to before he was turned- and he dances with you 😳

Anon - So this took on a life of it's own, it reminded me of some of my Tav's backstory, so I worked in some elements of it. I hope it's still good. 🥺

Rhythm Like a Heartbeat - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion and Reader share a dance that reveals more than they planned.

Wyll was teaching Karlach to dance, of all things you'd seen on this journey, this was somehow amongst the most surprising. The Blade and the "Devil" he should've slayed, moving together along with the melody from an enchanted music box someone had picked up along the way. The two of them seemed to be growing closer, and you couldn't be happier for them. You took a long drink from a pilfered wine bottle while you watched, you were all blowing off a little steam, which was well needed. Digging around for Kethric's weakness was a daunting task and the clock inside of all of you was still ticking. "Not rethinking your choices I hope." 

You'd been so lost in thought you hadn't heard Astarion come up behind you. Or he'd intentionally snuck up on you. When he wanted to go unheard or unseen, you usually didn't have a chance of not getting ambushed. Mostly he seemed to enjoy the little jump you made when surprised. Tonight you didn't disappoint, exuding a high-pitched noise along with jumping. "Astarion," you scold, "honestly! And no, of course not, just impressed by Wyll's form." 

"Really," he scoffed, not hiding his jealous streak very well at all, "he looks like a gangly teenage boy at his first gala. Clearly, you haven't had much experience in the ballroom." Part of you wanted to laugh a little, the insult was obviously ridiculous, but you knew his jealousy came from fear that he barely held on to you and could still lose you. Maybe sometime you should use the tadpole to show him just how impossible that would be. If only the thought of it didn’t fill you with revulsion. 

“I didn’t know you were such an expert, love,” you know he feels comfortable with the playful banter, and you hope it pulls him away from that place of insecurity. 

A sharp laugh answers you, “I’ll have you know I had plenty of experience, both in life and unlife.” You shoot him a look, he rarely speaks of life before Cazador, you’re not even sure how much he remembers of it. “What? I had an important job, I knew important people. Or are you just trying to get me to teach you?” An outstretched arm beckons you to join him. For a second you freeze, knowing you’re risking exposing everything you’ve held back. But hells, if you say no, he’ll take it the wrong way entirely. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be a quick study.” 

Taking his arm, you let him lead you a distance from the tent, glad Wyll and Karlach are still the center of attention, and gracefully dip your knee as he bows. Gently, one hand takes yours, the other held properly tucked behind his back. The rhythm is an easy one, but you let him take the lead. Soft steps, elaborate turns around one another, your eyes locked with his. Gods, his eyes are breathtaking when he’s looking at you, when his guard is down, soft and shining with light. Tonight, they seem full of mirth, but you’ve seen them overflowing with his sorrow and tears as well. They’ve distracted you and you forget, he’s supposed to be teaching you, your form is too good. 

Step away, one spin, back to back, face each other, palms touching. Skin like ice presses against yours, heating up with the exertion and the emotions humming through your every nerve. One night he asked if it bothered you, lying next to the chill of the grave. You only hugged him tighter and told him not to be ridiculous because you couldn’t find the right words at the time to explain that it was part of who he was and you loved all of him, even the pieces that might not seem loveable. Thinking of it that way now though, you should tell him. 

Another turn, facing away from one another again, a chance to catch your breath. It’s madness how he still affects you, even after you’d confessed to one another, you’re still swooning nervously. He’s right when he calls you “silly girl” teasingly. The finale, one more elaborate twirl, you’re no longer even thinking of the dance, muscle memory taking over. His hand catches yours and you step close to him, closer than the propriety of a noble’s dance floor would’ve ever allowed. Cheekily, he leans forward, stealing a quick kiss. “It would seem you have more talents than you’ve let on.” 

“I…”, you really don’t want to lie to him. The silence stretches far too long. “It would seem so.” 

“Hmm,” you feel him studying you, and you realize his eyes are guarded again, his posture rigid. “So tell me one thing,” you nod, terrified you’re about to shatter that fragile bond you’ve built. Lies by omission are still lies. “Which noble house are you a runaway from?” His voice is cold and hard, the Astarion you met on the beach that fateful day. How fast he can change wounds you, just like that, he’s ready to be done with you. But it’s your fault, you know how years of horror have left him with walls he’s too quick to bring up. “Or do you want to keep lying to me?” 

You shake your head. “I wish I could say.” 

“And here I thought we really had something, but clearly,” he gestures wildly, unable to contain his rising temper. 

Stinging tears begin to prick your eyes. “No, no, I wish I could say,” you emphasize, praying he’ll understand. 

Suddenly, he stills, hand coming to your cheek, eyes wide. “Is this a warlock thing?” A thumb brushes away the tear that escaped and you hear agonized regret in his voice. “Oh darling, I’m sorry, don’t cry.” Arms pull you into his chest. “Please, I didn’t realize, it’s fine.” 

“I wanted to tell you,” you sniffle into his shirt.

“Hush love, you can tell me what you’re able to, when you’re ready. Although I must insist you consider us even for any prior deception of mine. Even ones you haven’t realized yet.” He laughs that awkward, nervous laugh that happens when he’s upset, but he’s trying so you let yourself giggle a bit. “There’s my girl. Now how about we dance again and no holding back? I need to know if I can actually keep up with you.” 

The music box is still playing but you’re no longer aware of anyone else in the camp. There’s only the two of you, softly and slowly moving together. Gone are the thoughts of the elaborate courtly show, you move by instinct, bodies responding to one another as you press close together. Then you still, let yourself be wrapped in his arms, your lips brushing the hollow of his throat. “I can at least tell you that you’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had.” 

“Never doubted it my sweet,” you feel him kiss the crown of your head before resting his cheek against it.

[wren-kitchens]

mumscarian kitties in the winter!

honestly I am remembering so many drabbles I completely forgot I wrote. silver lining ig

“i’m home!” grian calls, stomping his feet on the doormat to kick off the majority of the snow before he steps into the house. 

he sighs as he’s hit with a wall of warm air, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. checking the clock on the wall, he can see that it’s barely past five in the evening, but already it’s pitch black outside.

as grian takes his shoes off and puts them on the radiator to dry, he can’t help noticing the silence in the house. usually his arrival is met with cheers, or bickering, or on one memorable occasion, shouts of panic as grian inadvertently distracted mumbo enough to set fire to a pancake.

but today, there’s nothing.

frowning, grian takes off his coat and scarf and hangs them on the radiator along with his boots, before heading into the living room to investigate the lack of noise. have they gone out as well? surely they’d text him though, right?

it becomes immediately apparent what the silence is caused by when grian pushes the door open gently and peeks in. his chest warms as he sees mumbo and scar, curled up together on the sofa, both fast asleep and completely oblivious to grian’s arrival.

scar is wearing the red jumper grian had leant him a while ago and never got back, with his arms around mumbo, who is laying on scar’s chest and has his nose buried in the woollen fabric. a movie is playing in the background, unseen and unheard by the two sleeping cats. grian’s smile (which he hadn’t realised he’d been wearing) grows even softer as he sees that mumbo’s and scar’s tails are curled together.

unsure of whether to wake them or not, grian opts to make them more comfortable. he takes the fluffy blanket from the armchair (scar’s favourite blanket—he says it’s warmer than all the others. grian doubts him, but who is he to judge) and carefully drapes it across his partners. he turns the tv off, assuming that they wouldn’t be at the right point in the film anyway.

however, despite grian’s best efforts to stay quiet, scar stirs, blinking sleepily up at grian. it seems to take a moment for him to process who he’s looking at, but once he does, his face lights up.

“hm? oh- grian!” he beams, and man, grian is so in love with him. “we missed you.”

grian suddenly realises why scar is wearing his jumper, and why mumbo has his nose pressed against it. 

“you saps.” grian grins, heat rushing to his face. “how long have you had this?” he gestures to the jumper.

“oh, a couple years.” scar says, trying to sound offhand, but his face turns pink, giving him away. “I, uh. it’s for emergencies.”

“emergencies?” grian raises an eyebrow, endeared. “like what?”

“like right now.” scar says. he leans up and kisses grian on the cheek. “because we missed you. it smells like you.” 

grian gives a huff of flustered laughter. “you two are so cute.”

“we know.” scar says smugly. he pats the empty spot of sofa next to him. “sit with us?”

grian looks at the two, curled up together, mumbo still fast asleep. his chest fills with a fuzzy warmth, and he can’t help smiling. “how could I refuse?”

(bonus drabble)

winter is not fun for a cat like scar.

it’s so cold, he thinks that one day he’s going to lose his ears to frostbite; and it’s dark constantly, no matter what time it technically should be; and grian and mumbo delight in making him wear the stupidest sweaters they can find. scar honestly didn’t understand how mumbo and grian could love it so much when they first met, because for scar it was so awful.

but for all his complaining and whining, scar has to admit now that winter is his favourite season.

because yes, it’s cold, but that means he can snuggle up under mountains of blankets with grian and mumbo; and yes, it’s dark, but that means he can spend more of his time napping with his face buried in the soft fur of his partners; and yes, grian and mumbo give him the silliest sweaters ever, but it’s worth the indignity to see the adoring looks on their faces when he comes out wearing their latest abomination.

and yes, all those reasons are to do with mumbo and grian. listen, you can’t blame him—they’re extremely easy to fall in love with. 

[fancygremlin]

I absolutely adore how the themes in Malevolent are introduced so subtly at the very start of each season. I feel that each season has distinct ones that could foreshadow how Arthur and John's relationship progresses throughout the show.

I will be rambling about it below (sorry if it's a but messy, I wrote it all in one sitting and didn't proof read it very thoroughly).

The first season is introductory, so we are shown right away how the characters struggle to come to terms with their condition and how to make the best of it to actually accomplish their goals.

This theme is introduced when we learn right at the start of episode one that Arthur is a pianist, as well as a private investigator. The piano requires two hands to play a song. The right hand plays the main melody, the one everyone recognises by ear and is more likely to hum when recalling the song. The left hand plays the accompaniment, the melody that is perhaps not as nice to hear on its own, but makes the song being played that much more complete.

It's not a coincidence that Arthur keep the control of his right hand, while John gains control of the left hand. Arthur is the one that has to interact with the world around him, he is the one that people see and hear and talk to, he is the one that ultimately controls where to go and how to move about a space. He is the main melody, the one people recognise and hear and remember. John is instead stuck in the background, unseen and unheard... limited to just relaying visual information to Arthur. However, without John's aid, Arthur would be incapable to do anything at all. John is the accompaniment: the trained ear can't hear it well, but without it, the main melody would not be as complete, or as rich, or pleasant to hear.

In season two we have them transported in the Dreamlands and this is an environment that John is more familiar with. This is not a safe place to stay, anything or anyone could bring harm. We see the characters pushing their boundaries, learning how to survive... but is it fair to respond to a harsh environment with more harshness? In about episode two (I think, I am writing this all from memory, so sorry if I am misremembering), Arthur mentions Aesop's fable of "The Woodcutter and the Trees". The quote that is being repeated multiple times over the course of the season is "at least the handle is one of us".

If we want to apply the fable to Arthur and John, it could be possible to infer that Arthur might be the axe, while John is the handle. Arthur is the one that is foreign to the place, that does not understand it and is more often than not ready to resort to more violent or extreme methods to escape or resolve issues. On the other hand, John mentions that he has faint memories of the Dreamlands, he is part of them and he remembers he had some sort of control/dominance over them when he was part of the King in Yellow. It's because of John that Arthur is even able to access the Dreamlands in the first place, so maybe John did betray in some way his nature and bringing harm to the place that he once called home.

In season three, the main theme was the (1) loss of humanity and (2) identity. In this case, this was communicated, respectively, (1) by removing a thing that was at the core of the characters' personality, and (2) by offering a narrative foil to the characters.

Loss of humanity for Arthur was symbolised by the destruction of Faroe's music box, which sent him down a very dangerous and dark path of self-vendetta fuelled by murderous rage. On the other hand, Arthur's narrative foil was Larson. Both characters experienced a great loss, but the motivations and (in particular) emotional response to the event was what made them become very different people. Arthur's loss of his daughter haunts him constantly, drags him down with the gravitational pull of a black hole. He cannot forgive himself, to the point of considering himself a monster that does not deserve redemption or forgiveness. On the other hand, Larson willingly sacrificed his daughter for power and money and never experiences any remorse or guilt for his deplorable actions.

Loss of humanity for John was shown by having Arthur strike a deal with Kayne: John is back, but with none of the memories or experiences he lived with Arthur. He is back as a manipulative fragment of the King in Yellow. It's interesting how he regains all his memories when Arthur plays Faroe's music box. Of course, John's narrative foil is... another version of himself... Yellow. I could write an entire essay comparing the two and their respective journeys on how they wanted to try so hard to form their own identities... but I'd go off on a very long tangent. This is already long enough and I am blabbering too much.

I've JUST started season four today and I am two episodes in and I am suspecting that this season's theme is fractures... Just in episode one I heard Arthur choosing a story about a broken relationship between two friends, then the multiple mentions between Arthur and his father in law, and then in episode two there was also the broken window in the room they are renting in Mary's apartment... I am honestly so scared that by the end of this season something very big will happen that will push Arthur and John apart and fracture their relationship almost irremediably.

I know John is hiding something very big from Arthur and it's very possibly something regarding Kayne. I also have a sneaky suspicion that Arthur had a real chance to get some answers about Kayne from Yellow, but of course he just decided to NOT DO THAT!

Can't wait to have this show mess me up once more.

[Season 5 theme analysis]

[ivesambrose]

⚜️ 𝐉𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 ⚜️

December 31st,2023 - May 1st, 2024

These are based on Sidereal transits 💛

If you'd like an even more personalized reading in regards to this or anything else from my list of services DM or email me with your query at Ivesambrose@gmail.com

Services offered

Client Testimonials & Feedback

Thank you for the tip 🌹

Picture 1

You'll feel more decisive about your goals and your life and actively move forward in regards to it whether you have a plan or not you are aware that even if you take one step in regards to your desires every single day, even if it's a change of lifestyle, habit or mindset, they will all up.

You may have felt rejected or feared rejection in the past that has made you question your self worth immensely, it has made you shut down that tender part of you, it only comes out when you're by yourself or the few people you know and trust. You'll be slowly letting go of that wound of feeling rejected, unseen and unheard. You may be drawn more towards your faith at this time but it won't be a surface level thing, you might want to learn more, pray more or do more devotional acts as you'll realize that a lot of your prayers are being answered.

You're no longer the damsel in distress or someone who can be easily taken advantage of either. You'll likely attract a few people who are a bit obsessively drawn to you, some may have good intentions but others would want to control you or have ulterior motives, so please use your best judgement and listen to your gut.

You'll likely become more social, recognised for your words or the way you express yourself or teach things which make others feel comforted and heard. You might also begin expressing yourself in the form of writing, singing, photography, vlogging etc

You'll want to indulge in the luxuries life has to offer even more. There is also possibility of travel within the country for starters and a lot of back and forth.

Be more protective of your energy as well otherwise you'll feel moody and depleted.

Picture 2

You might feel like you're in the spotlight or you'll be fixating on the bigger picture of something and nothing else. A path you had chosen months back has led you to where you are right now, good or bad, you'll make peace with it once you realize that it's on you to change your direction or do what's need to be done to steer your life in the right direction. There's a sense of enlightenment that will feel very personal and spiritual to you, it will lead you to drop the act you had been partaking in for long.

You may have rejected help and guidance in the past that may have come to bite you and kept you in the same cycle, you'll feel inclined to revisit the guidance and break free from this chain.

Some of you might find a home, change homes, start working from home or finally feel at home where you can drop your mask and finally be yourself.

You'll stop being double minded and finally see yourself blooming in different areas of your life be it studies or career or both. Like minded people will come to you. You might find love but some of you might let go of it as it could feel suffocating or restricting, you will feel sorrow but I also see you being held by someone either a friend or a new lover when this happens. Your needs will be mer regardless.

You'll be aggresive in your pursuits and some of you might finally step into the shoes of being a leader instead of following orders. You'll find your people and may also go to different festivals, fairs, exhibitions etc

Avoid overly physically exherting yourself and spicy food, Avoid lashing out at people. Stay hydrated aswell.

Picture 3

Too many choices in love, studies, career direction, hobbies etc you might feel a bit overwhelmed at first since the energy might feel scattered, so you'll proceed to expressing yourself more creatively and openly because of your new found confidence in your body and enthusiasm towards life. A lot of your creativity will come via your dreams, or engaging in fantasy literature and media or meditating or simply day dreaming.

Your creativity as well as beauty will draw in more career opportunities as well networking with people. You will also be actively addressing the ways you engage in self sabotage and it will be your responsibility to work through the same.

You'll be blessed with a wish or a couple of them being granted, you'll be in your receptive state. You might just accept the "delulu is the solulu" (I can't believe I typed that) saying or to put in better words, you'll simply allow your desires and dreams to manifest without you attaching conditions to it or thinking of the what ifs and how's etc

There will be deep transformation for you, big ones. Be it the way you look, dress, are living your life, your existing relationships, your job etc

You'll find unlikely resources or finances from unknown/hidden means or in form of inheritances.

You can look forward to a sense of peace you've been lacking. You might be prone to astral travel, intense dreams etc avoid or at least be mindful of recreational drug use or drinking, as well as water bodies.

Some of you might be traveling abroad for cultural exchange or studies or even for love. Do embrace the love that comes your way.

Picture 4

The courage and resources to get up and leave. Simply rising above something successfully no matter how weighed down you feel or have felt till now. You might also be juggling multiple things at this time (jobs, work and studies, hobbies, ideas, investments, applications etc) you'll find more balance somehow you'll also find clarity in your next steps.

You'll also be more assertive and stand up for yourself against someone who has held some form of power over you. You'll also realize that projecting omeone else's anger, mindset or bullying, towards yourself or others is not going to break the cycle. There is a theme of walking out, away and relocating heavily for you. But there is inevitable triumph in the path you're taking. Maybe in the past you've been procrastinating on it but that phase has come to an end.

A select few of you might also be going through your saturn return at this time so you might feel tested but you're simply having a period of shedding old skin and rising from the ashes of what was barren all along. You'll bring in more structure and discipline into your life in the process which in turn will reward you with joy and being content with your achievements instead of looking at your to do list for the next big thing.

Try engaging or creating things that make you feel light-hearted or entertained or it was something that was taught to you as a child, I feel you'll find the 'lost art' to something and recreate it.

Let yourself have fun and feel joy for what seems like the first time in your life. You'll realize life wasn't just unrewarded labour, that was an old way of being and you're stepping into a reality that feels a lot more comforting and compassionate than the one you're leaving behind.

[chaosheadspace]

Hi there! For the Valentine asks: 35 but make it in the Dreaming and we get Dream pilfering snacks for Hob from his Dreamers?

(We were absolute robbed of the 'naked Dream razes the buffet' scene from the comics 🤭)

Hi, thank you for sending an ask! So here is the actual fill for the prompt, not what I first understood lol (not beta-read.)

Dream wills a temperate breeze to gently flow through the open windows of the balcony and into his chambers, gently cooling Hob's dreamscape body, flushed and sweaty with exertion, his limbs intertwined with Dream's, his breath just now calming down.

He adores Hob, how he smiles, how he always draws Dream closer, how he narrows his focus onto Dream's pleasure when they lay together, body and mind both. He feels as if he can let go, to some extent, when he is with Hob; his experience of perceiving everything that is his realm at once filtered through the lens of Hob's body, of his easy laughter and gentle touch.

Dream hungrily nuzzles closer to him, carefully brushes back some strands of sweat-damp hair from his forehead, places a long kiss to the side of his neck. The night in Hob's part of the world is close to waning, and he is loath to let him go.

“Don't tell me you want to go again?” Hob chuckles, the deep tremble of it resonating from his throat into Dream's lips. “You need to give a man a breather, dove.”

“Technically, you do not need one. This is the Dreaming. You are as ready as you think yourself to be,” Dream speaks against Hob's Adams apple, moving to straddle him, to cover Hob's body with his own, craving closeness still. 

“Well, technically I also don't need to eat while dreaming, but my stomach seems to disagree,” Hob ponders. Well, they simply can't have that, can they? At least Dream cannot. Hob should not need to want for anything while he is here. 

He sinks into his own consciousness, part of him racing down the arborescent paths of his self, touching, tasting, searching—there.

He gently brushes the dream of a lightly slumbering mother, picking up a dark green artisanal bowl from her breakfast table. She dreams of mundane peace, one of her kids is eating, the other quietly scribbling away on a piece of the morning paper she is reading. It is quiet, and her coffee is hot. Dream’s small smile caresses her sleeping mind and her waking body stills, subconscious easing deeper into the fantasy.

He steps from her kitchen into the dream of a young boy, who has vowed mere hours ago that he will become the best pastry chef in the entire universe. Dream steps up to the table, where the flaxen-haired child is kneading dough next to a row of trays with finished delicacies, all of them unseen and unheard of in the Waking. “May I have one of these?” Dream asks. The boy nods, absorbed in his task.

The final dream he visits is also that of a child. They are imagining for themself the ability to fly, or to be more precise, they imagine the air to be as water and for themself to swim. It is filled with bubbles and bird-like fish, with sun-bright starfish and the slow current of a breeze. Dream conjures up a blue glass flagon and fills it, careful not to spill or take too much.

Then he draws himself up through the roots of his realm, back to Hob’s side, and sets down before him the bowl, containing warm porridge with golden honey and soft raspberries and cream; the tall pastry, filled with berries and vanilla and fervent aspirations; and the flagon, heavy with pearly laughter and liquid air.

“Oh,” Hob breathes in wonder, the image of his dreaming self deliciously close to his waking body. “What's all this?”

Dream touches him, still, again, a shining thread weaving together that which mortals perceive as lesser, unreal, and that which Dream can never truly, fully touch; the roots of Hob's mind tying together Dreaming and Waking under Dream's fingertips, against his body.

“This is a small sample of the finest things the Dreaming has to offer,” Dream purrs. “You will never be left wanting here.”

“Yes, but there is a difference between sating a need and spoiling someone rotten, isn't there,” Hob says fondly.

Dream raises one eyebrow. “Is there a rule that forbids me to achieve both?”

“No,” Hob says with a soft smile, craning his neck to kiss him on the forehead, “absolutely not.”

[babyseraphim]

*drops this and runs away* (a snippet from ch. 6 of my healing needed more than time, which is still in progress)

Edwin could see his friend in the poor boy. He could see it in his crestfallen posture, echoing the same stance that Charles often displayed when cases went sideways. He could see it in the way his breaths quickened when asked to make a decision that had no clear, correct answer. In the wide, glassy picture of his eyes, when presented with a sudden mention of his father.

Edwin could see that this boy lived on within his friend, unseen, unheard—unloved. He was lonely, and afraid. More likely than not, that meant Charles was, too—whether he realized or not. 

Edwin had never seen it. He had never even considered it.

“Um,” Charles said, interrupting Edwin’s thoughts. “Sorry, but are you okay?”

Edwin wiped a sudden film of tears from his cheeks, the untamable cauldron of burbling sorrow finally beginning to spill over.

“Yes, my apologies,” he said, doing his best to rebuild the burst dam of emotions flowing through him. “You simply—well, you remind me very much of a dear friend.”

“Oh,” said Charles. “D’you make friends with a lot of seven year olds, then?”

Edwin chuckled wetly. “I do not. He is not a child like you, but you remind me of him all the same.” He looked at the floor, suddenly unable to face the familiar brown eyes staring up at him. “I must admit, I miss him dearly. He always knows exactly what to say in these moments.”

Charles sat silent for a moment, contemplating. Then, he took hold of Edwin’s hand and patted it clumsily—a clear imitation of the comfort that Edwin had offered him earlier.

“Wherever he is, I bet he misses you too, yeah?” Charles said, with a certainty that warmed Edwin’s soul. “If he doesn’t, then he’s a right tosser.” He paused. “And stupid, also.”

[eternal-honeyy]

Clawing Ever Upward A Luminary Oneshot

Astarion Ancunin x fReader!

Synopsis: In Smallest Star; Unknown we learned that Tav and Astarion have spent a few accidental nights together after he's finished feeding, but what exactly does a sleepover between them entail? Well, for Astarion, much more than he initially anticipated.

Or, alternatively: How to give comfort to one who seeks it simply by being, in 700 words or less.

Note: This fic takes place within the Luminary storyline, an Astarion x f!Reader oneshot-based series that you can read here if you'd like some additional context, though this can also be read as a oneshot :)

Luminary Masterlist

Two hands reach outward into the darkness, seeking, scrambling, and grasping for purchase upon something sturdy, something to anchor on to, almost as if they belong to some drowning, floundering body being pulled beneath a heavy current.

The night is quiet, the gentle breeze and the buzzing of bugs the only sounds to be heard, and yet, Astarion's eyes flutter open, his pale eyelashes briefly brushing over his cheeks as he takes in his surroundings, seeking that which may have removed him from his trance even on a peaceful evening such as this one.

The answer to his curiosities comes in the form of a warm hand pressing against his cool chest, and of dull fingernails scraping at his skin weakly before the appendage falls away once more. At this, he sits up on his forearms, upper body rising slightly and pale skin meeting cool air as his gaze darts about his tent.

He looks down to the left of him and finds you lying there, exactly where he had last seen you before he'd slipped into his trance for the evening, that favorite spot of his upon your neck still slightly red from his most recent feeding.

Though, as much as he adores admiring the not so subtle marks made upon your flesh by his fangs, he finds his attention slipping instead to your expression, noting with no small sense of alarm the discomfort that can be found there, your nose scrunched up and your eyes squeezed shut so tightly that there's wrinkles forming around them from your efforts.

He looks around, searching for the cause of your obvious unease, eyes roving endlessly for some unseen light and ears perked for some unheard sound, when suddenly he hears you let out a whimper so pitiful that it has his undead heart lurching within his chest.

His eyes flit back toward you again, and he finds that your expression has only grown all the more tense since he had last seen it, and your hands have started to reach out into the darkness, the tips of your fingers so close to his side that he can feel the disturbed air left in their wake.

Your fearful whines have turned into choked gasps now, and as Astarion watches on, uncertainty coloring his thoughts, he realizes with a start that you must be dreaming, your "waking" hands emulating those found within your slumber as you almost certainly scrambled to find something, anything to hold onto.

He knows this feeling well, or at least thinks so, the desperation of trying to claw ones way forward, upward, against all odds, against all hope, and he feels his chest tighten at the realization that whatever frightens you so might not be so different from what horrifying fates he's suffered.

And Gods, your face is just so twisted up in fear, and the sounds you're making are so very desperate in the absolute worst way, in a way he had never hoped to hear, and before he can think he's reaching out to you, allowing your grasping hands to find purchase upon the cold and solid flesh of his forearm even as your nails dig in and your grip grows impossibly tight.

He allows you to ground yourself beside him over the next few minutes, his eyes never fully leaving your face as he waits for all of the fear that was once so present there to fade, some softened part of him needing to see your ease before he can lay down once more.

And he would never admit it, not to himself and certainly not aloud, but there is a level of comfort he had never anticipated in the feeling of your warm hands resting upon his skin, especially as your grip loosens and your wave of fear passes, leaving him with only the weight of two soft hands to serve as a reminder of what had just occurred.

And oh, what a mighty weight they bear,

What a permanent mark they leave in their wake.

[ladyelissarose]

‘We Go Down Together’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x female ‘hostage’ reader

Nickname per say: Wolf

Summary; When Ghost is caught and held hostage, he meets a new friend, who’s been held hostage there too for much longer. But Simon who has the hopes of getting out, runs into her who has lost it all. 

Warnings; might make you cry, angst, then some fluff, mentions of torture and a few dark things.. but yup, be prepared ;) enjoy.

“Well... sense you don’t seem to give up.. maybe we can make you comfortable here... along with Wolf... take turns playing with you two and see who breaks first...”

Those were the last words Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley heard from his captors before he was thrown into the darkest place he had ever encountered. If he thought the casket he was buried in was dark and lonely... this felt much worse, for it was knowingly much larger... meaning more demons could fit inside. The demons were what scared Simon the most, their haunting voices, promising torture and pain till no end, their lingering around him, which was so unseen yet profoundly felt. When thrown in, instinctively he stretched his hands out to feel for walls, and when he found one he followed it until he found a corner, and there he settled himself. Hoping the darkness of that particular corner consumed him or kept him well hidden for now, until they pulled him out again to do what they could to get him to talk. The room was so dark he couldn’t even see his hands in front of him, so instead he kept his eyes shut, so he wouldn’t try to look for something that wasn’t really there. Simon tried to get his mind off of it, but ever sense the first day he arrived, the presence of another in that room made chills go up his spine, and his mind wonder,

 ‘Is there really someone in here? Or am I hallucinating again?’

There would be times he’d hear the door slam open and the sound of someone else being dragged out, theirs cries were the sound of a wailing woman, but he could never see them. And once they were out, he’d feel extremely lonely, he had even cried for them, wishing for their presence to be there again, for it never felt scary or uncomfortable, it felt peaceful and comforting. Once they’d return he’d feel rough hands grab him and drag him out next, he’d try to fight them off, but never succeeded. The cycle repeated when it came to them trying to get words out of the both of them, which they never received. Simon would grow furious when he’d hear them hurting you, feel your pain in the sound of your desperate pleas and screams, and he’d tear up when he could make out what were your silent cries or whimpers once you were back inside. Soon he would hear your soft breaths when you had fallen asleep, and that’s what he used as leverage to calmly fall asleep too. When Simon would be thrown back into the dark room, he had already memorized the steps towards his corner, but they usually didn’t feel so heavy or sad, when he could feel the presence of his unseen and unheard friend. All he knew, was that they called them, ‘Wolf’. Today though, Wolf’s cries sounded much louder and deep, and ever sense you came back, your soft breaths hadn’t been heard yet, you were oddly enough still up. And Simon refused to sleep until he heard you pass out first.

‘Why aren’t you sleeping yet? Did they really tear into you this time?-‘

“Sometimes we fly, sometimes we fall

Sometimes I feel like we're nothing at all..”

‘Oh?... was that- real?’

“Dream in the light, dance in the dark

You fill the spaces inside of my heart, mm mm..”

Simon’s ears perked at the sound of the most beautiful and angelical voice he had ever heard. It sang into the darkness, the echo of the empty metal room allowed it to flow like a peaceful river. Sitting up and cowering less, Simon awaited for it to continue, now hungry for more as it seemed to have calmed his hurting heart and desperate soul. He was too worried to call out or ask for it, not wanting it to stop or scare it away at the sound of his broken, torn voice. 

“Mm, woo ooh, ooh ooh

Hm hm...”

‘Is that why they called you Wolf? They hear your voice and say you’re howling in the dark... please go on..’

Wolf, that was your new given name.. as each night before your new friend arrived, you sang your fears away, hoping your voice sounded angelic enough to keep the demons away. You had been captured months ago, after a mission went wrong with your team and instead of being able to get away, your team used you as bait so they could run first. So you knew sense the start that they’d probably never come to get you back, and it was proven right when you found out that it had been 6 months sense your capture. They did everything in their power to get information out of you... but you never gave in... so they tortured you with darkness, hiding you from the sun and it’s gift of light. When you were once a Sunshine to many, brightening up the world with a smile or cheering it up with a simple word, you were now a Wolf.. crying in the night.. hoping to call out the moonlight, maybe the light of the sun could spare you that. But no.. you hadn’t seen it yet. Tonight for some reason your friends cries had been much louder, it tore you piece into piece at the sound of it, anger boiling as you wished that they’d hurt you instead. Soon it stopped, and a loud crash came through the door. In the distance you could hear heavy breathing, a few sniffles here and there, even a choked sob. You thought that maybe singing, would calm his heart... and silence his cries that made you ache with sorrow. Lately he had been your reason to go on, feeling his presence there or hearing his soft snores when he’d knock out due to the pain, was enough to stay strong. You had never spoken or seen this man, but he was hurting as much as you, and you’d do anything to help or take it away.

But after today’s unfortunate session you felt more tired and in excruciating pain, exhaustion taking over a lot of you, scaring you. You felt like shutting down completely, but decided to keep strong. So you eased your mind, cleared your throat, and you sang one of your saddest melodies, summing up your life... not knowing what else you could do. Not realizing that your words were hitting straight to their core as you continued,

“Am I really mine? are you really yours

If all your emotions cut straight to my core..”

Simon clutched himself together as he wiped a stray tear away, feeling the depth of their voice, the emotion hidden deep in the words spoke louder than anything. He held in a sob as he listened on,

“Times when you cry, I feel it all

Whenever you leave me, I wait for your call

You are everything I'm living for.”

You felt the stone in your throat beginning to grow, at the thought of never being able leave, or seeing the sun again.

“If you go down, then we go down together

If you hold on, I might just stay forever If you get hurt, I'll try to make it better

If you go down, then we go down together...”

‘Do we really? Would you?’

Simon thought this as he began to feel inclined to guide himself through the darkness, towards your voice. To see- well.. more likely to feel if you were indeed there, or just another voice in his head. His hand trembled in fear and anticipation, of what awaited for him in the shadows. But he stopped when you went on, with a slight tremble to your voice,

‘she’s crying..’

“S-Sometimes we're right, sometimes we're wrong

Sometimes the l-line has just never been drawn..

Nights when we fi-fight, we strike the chord..

And t-then we for-forget what we've... what we’ve been fighting for-r...”

Soft sobs then filled the room, when you finally broke, unable to go on with the song. The pain was getting too much worse for you and you could feel little bits of yourself let go, like a loss feeling. Simon felt his whole chest shake with agony when he heard for the first time, your cries. It definitely sounded like a Wolf.. a mother Wolf crying for her loss, or her pups.. feeling absolutely lonely and torn. He could hear how hopeless you were, it was cry when you knew it was over, or never going to start again. 

 ‘It can’t be over... my team is definitely coming for me soon.. they have too... I hope they do.’

“Lay on the floor.. sleep in your arms

Pausing the world to stay right where we are

Close all the bliiiinds... lock all the doors

Things fall apart and I'm wanting you more

You are everything I'm living for...”

There you went at it again, refusing to lean towards what felt like defeat and an ending.. though you mostly believe you were headed that way. 

‘You are everything I'm living for..’

 Simon trusted his gut and knew he lived for you too, especially now that he heard your voice, which became like an instant drug to him, he now needed you, to feel you- hopefully see you one day. Simon got on his knees and began to crawl, towards your voice again, willing to get as close as possible, and be at grace’s mercy in order to get a simple touch of you. You let your legs extended out, so they wouldn’t cramp as you took a deep breath, and were able to go on, until you felt the softest brush if fingers touch your bare leg. You gasped in fear and jumped back, not recognizing the soft touch, after suffering through so many other ways of touch. You found your hand resting over the part that was barely grazed by love, burning like a severe after affect. But it soon turned warm... then cold again.

 ‘Touch me again... please..’

Simon felt a spark when he felt soft skin against his fingers, but as quick as he touched it, it left. His heart sank, but now wouldn’t live without another second without it, so he called out shyly, and in a whisper,

“where’d you go?”

A few beats of silence passed.. Simon grew worried it was fake.. until he heard a soft reply back,

“i’m right here- *cough*... sorry I backed off..”

‘Oh God.. fuck- this is real!’

“it’s ok.. sorry if I scared you-“

You didn’t want to hear him say ‘sorry’ for anything, especially after everything he has been through, so you right away countered with,

“oh no! it’s fine.... really.”

“oh.. ok.”

You could hear his cute little British accent, and wondered how it sounded in its louder and clearer version, but thought that probably he wasn’t ready to go that high or far yet.. so you stuck with whispering,

“how long have- *cough cough* you b-been here?”

Simon winced at your thick coughing, it sounded awful and letting him know you were very hurt and most likely sick too,

“about a couple of months... I’m hoping me team finds us soon.”

“team? you’re team is coming for you-“

“us now.. I’m not leaving you behind-“

“but you *cough cough* ugh... you don’t know me-“

“doesn’t matter.. I’d want you free anyways.”

“really?”

“yeah..”

‘of course I’d want you free... if I get out.. we get out together.’

Simon could hear you grunt a bit like if you were in pain, which perhaps you were, he was about to ask you if you’d be alright but you spoke up first,

“can.. can you find me again.. I can’t mo-move.”

“of course.. just stay still and trust me.. I won’t hurt you.”

“ok.”

Simon felt for the cold cemented floor and began to slide his hands up, away from him, trying to feel for you. But it didn’t matter how far he went, it was like if you were never there.

‘No.. no no where did you go!?-‘

“If you go down, then we go down together

If you hold o-on, I might just st-stay forever

If you get hurt... I’ll... I'll try to make it better 

If you go down, th-then we go down together, ah! ughh...”

‘Oh.. ok ok.. follow her voice.. I’m getting close-‘

“Oh! Ha! Is that you?”

“ye-yeah! it’s me..”

Simon trailed his hand on a cool, soft surface, and before he knew it, an inviting hand intertwined their fingers with his, bringing him close. He then heard a sniffle and weak words come out,

“I wish I could see you..”

“oh darling I don’t think you’d want too... but I wish I could see you.”

You grazed your hands over what you could feel were his arms, they felt bulky and very warm, compared to yours. You clung onto them and whimpered,

“can you hold me? I know it’s a lot but I’m cold-“

“shh shh.. I got you, you feel my arms-“

“yeah yeah.. wrap them around me- like that!”

“I know.. I got you sweet girl.. I got you.”

‘Damnit she’s freezing! Oh please stay strong little one.. I got you.. helps coming soon!’

Simon laid your head on his chest and had you sitting in his lap, off the cold floor so you wouldn’t freeze more. He could feel your body trembling and hear the tiny whimpers let out when the pain got too much for you. He even started to notice your change in breathing, it grew slower and slower. His heart panicked for you as he called out while shaking you a bit,

“hey hey! Stay up.. please.”

“but.. but I can’t-“

“Yes you can.. yes you can- come on. Sing for me..”

You barely shook your head and hid it deeper into his chest while you clutched his arms,

“It’ll sound terri-terrible-“

“It doesn’t matter... I’ll help you. Hm?”

‘What’s the point.. we’ll both die anyways... just let me go first.. then you can follow me-‘

“Come on.. I want to hear you.. I need to hear you-“

“I’m never getting out-“

“Yes you are.. yes we are-“

“I’ve been here to long- no one will remember me-“

“I now know you. I know you and won’t ever forget you... now let me hear your voice. Please, trust me.”

You let out a choked sob when you realized that you had lost all hope, and how he still had some. You didn’t want to suck up all his hope and turn it into faithlessness, so you gave in, and sucked it up. Closing your eyes you leaned into him and began once again,

“If you go down, then we go down together

If you hold on, I might just stay forever

If you get hurt, I'll try to make it better

If you go down, then we go down together...”

BAM BAM BAM!! 

Simon felt your body jolt in fear when all the shots were heard from afar off, but he clearly heard Soap’s and Price’s voices shouting out too, and his weary heart just about leaped with joy and relief.

‘It’s them!! They’re here!!’

“Love! Help has arrived! Love? Oh shit!”

In shock Simon realized you had passed out and grew unconscious, which urged him to cry out in desperation,

 “AY!! I’M IN HERE!!-“

“SIMON!! STAY BACK!!”

BOOM!!!

The door went flying off but Simon kept you safe and secure in his arms, afraid that more damage may dare come and touch you again. Bright lights burned his eyes as it was shining everywhere, he squinted and was able to catch a familiar figure coming towards him, making him smile beneath his mask,

“Johnny?”

“Simon, Hold- oh.. who’s this?”

Like a guardian over you, Simon instantly pulled his arms tighter around you, and with Soap’s help he stood up to his intimidating height and put forth while carrying you bridal style,

“She’s mine.. I’ll take care of her. Let’s get out of here.”

Soap looked curious and doubtful as he had never seen Simon this way- with people.. strangers. But with the way Simon looked down at your face that he could now see, he was definitely never going to let you go, you were far too precious and golden to just you let slip away. You mere presence kept him alive, imagine now that he could have all of you? Feel and really see all of you?

Few days later..

Tears of happiness and relief fell from his eyes and soaked his balaclava as he witnessed you wake up to full consciousness at the hospital at base. He don’t want to scare you as you began to flutter your eyes open, so he quickly pulled off his mask, ready for you to see who he really was. (Mind you it had taken him days to go over how this was going to happen, as he waited patiently and presently for you to wake up.) 

 You felt like garbage or like a truck had hit you, but it was quickly forgotten when you heard a familiar voice call out to you sweetly,

“Love?”

‘I remember that voice- oh.. oh wow.’

The most beautiful face sat in front of you, with watery eyes and the poutiest lips, holding his hand out to you for you to receive, which you did. Like the first time you intertwined your fingers with his, it all felt so surreal once again, and like home. You couldn’t help but admire his beauty as you praised,

“You’re beautiful.”

“not more than you... you’re a beauty.”

“ohh sweetheart... says the sculpted God himself.. I’m honored to be called a beauty by a masterpiece..”

Simon blushed so hard he felt his cheeks burn, but he nonetheless was honest with you as he replied,

“You’ll be the only one to see me besides my boss... I always where this... for protection.”

He then regretfully lifted up his balaclava to show you, you eyes gleamed at the interesting product he used as cover-up. But he didn’t need further explaining as you were understanding enough to know why he did it. His scars told enough for you, but you loved them already. You then remembered his words... as his eyes bore into your lovingly, it only made you tear up as you realized,

“You got me out.. you got us out.”

He nodded and came closer to plant a sweet, soft kiss on your cheek then head, he locked his eyes on yours as he leaned his forehead against yours. 

“We got out.. together.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

“... together... what’s your name?”

He sent you the softest smile before replying,

“Simon.. it’s Simon Riley, love... you?”

You bit your lip nervously, as you didn’t recall your name, after all the brainwashing they did. 

“They only called me Wolf... that’s it.”

 Simon caught your frown and thought,

‘She doesn’t remember... I got her.’

“It’s alright.. I underhand.. hmm-“

“I like it when you call me ‘love’... has a nice ring to it.. everyone else can call me Wolf. It’ll remind me of where I came from, and what I can overcome... and who I came out with.”

Simon’s heart almost pitter-pattered into an explosion, hearing your sweet and honest words.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright then, love. It’s settled then... you’re never leaving my side.”

“We’ll stick together?”

A soft kiss met the corner of your lips as he promised,

“Yes love.. Together.”

[aghostiewitdahoodie]

A painstaking read I have committed and exhaustive assumptions I will make. The comics laid bare his disquieting past, and oh, how he had suffered…

Simon is the first to agape his slits; slumber is torment itself, ridiculing the disturbed state of his, manifesting the terrors he bore. Hesitance and refusal, he despises the dusk; a forewarning of what is to come. The hours of darkness bring him an unsettling sensation he cannot seem to elude. A man of a few words he is, yet he cannot withstand the silence of the night. To cease remembering the anguish his past self had gone through, the glass of Bourbon in his hand unburdens the hollowness he cannot fill. Quite a companion he has; a vessel created out of pain is all he is and all he will ever be.

Venom seeps out of his organ of speaking when he is in control, a sensation he wallows in and takes pride in. A nuisance to his fellow men the words he speak, an unsought advice he provides- perhaps it is a reminder for himself. “Be careful who you trust, sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most.” Wise to heed until it makes your ears bleed.

Formidable is how he is avowed- a ghost that ambles among us- unseen, unspoken, and unheard. A myth bickered amidst warfare, a shiver on your spine, the very last thing you will descry, then you are to be buried six feet deep. Simon fulfils the name and persona he brought to life; Ghost is what he is called. Ghost is what he is affiliated with. Yet when the doors are shut and the walls are erecting still, he does not recognise himself. The stain he bestrewn on his image is to be laved with a cloth, and the reflection of his is to be shunned.

If the distraction he creates is to fail, hysteria consumes him. Bottle after bottle, and pummel after pummel. Orbs to fret his state, yet none could approach and offer a hand, sensing no words could comfort or relieve him of his ache. Shrink after shrink, Simon prefers to assuage everything with an intoxicant he heavily depends on.

Reluctant of the coquettes that attempt to court him in pubs, spurning them without a word. His dusky irises focused on the distance, impatiently waiting to be left alone. Simon has no interest in a swift shag or a relationship. Sensible of what he cannot give, frantic of what it may bring. He is hesitant to pleasure himself, not wanting the sight of him bare, remembering the incident he desperately yearns to forget. Simon loathes being touched without his permission, catching the heedless arm with ease and an unforgiving grip. “Watch it, luv.” The consent of his is important; do not tempt him.

Despises having his picture taken; he would avoid gatherings and remain in the comfort of his quarters. Simon may not admit the truth he intensely veils, which is that he found contentment in the presence of the Task Force. Daunted by what may repeat, he determines to linger among the shadows.

Finding serenity in Johnny’s companionship, it is a salvage he ought to correct after the passing of his brother. Simon cannot lose another person dear to him, and God forbid what happiness he had. A ghost they call, the Ghost they will meet.