#also now haunted by hallucinations/visions

[ramlightly]

I wanna just hold Ludo's face and kiss him on the forehead. Give him a treat for being so good. He is precious to me.

Oh good, he needs it, he really really needs it.

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: You're back home right when Azriel was starting to lose all hope, but is the person standing in front of him the same who disappeared all those years ago?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury

Word Count: 6670

Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 ○ Part 3

Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.

Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.

His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.

In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.

Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.

He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.

You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.

As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.

He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.

Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.

He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.

He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.

His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. “You're home, my love,” he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, “You're finally home.” He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.

His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.

“Azriel?” Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.

He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.

Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.

Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.

Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. “What happened here, Azriel?” If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.

He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.

“Don't touch her,” he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.

He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.

He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.

“Let's talk to him first,” Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.

“He put up a shield around them,” Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, “He's not in his right mind.” A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.

“Neither are any of you,” Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.

“We already called for Madja,” Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, “We can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“No,” he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.

Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.

“The cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-”

“You will not put my wife in a cell,” the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.

“She stabbed you,” Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, “it doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.” The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.

“She is still my wife,” Azriel says behind a snarl, “And you will not hurt her.” Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.

He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.

“She can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,” Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, “She can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.” Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?

Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.

Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.

“You need to sit down so I can treat you,” she tells him while inspecting the wound.

“I will not leave her.”

“You can trust her with us, Az,” Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.

Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.

He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.

He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.

Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.

“Is she…” What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. “Is it really her?” He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.

“You know that better than me,” the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. “She's healthy.”

He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.

“Are you sure you don't need to rest, Az?” He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.

When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.

Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.

Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.

That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.

“The wound is healed,” he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.

“That's not what I meant.” Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. “She stabbed you,” she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, “Are you sure it's her?”

“I would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,” the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.

“Why would she hurt you then?”

“Maybe it's my punishment,” the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.

“Punishment?” She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. “You didn't do anything wrong.” The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.

“I didn't find her,” he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, “She's been out there for almost a century, on her own,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and I didn't find her.”

“I know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.” And what good did his best do?

“You don't understand, Nesta,” he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.

“I do,” she starts, “If something happened-”

“If,” he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, “If something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.”

Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.

You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.

The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.

You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.

Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.

Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.

You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.

As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.

You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.

You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.

You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.

The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.

When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.

“You're home, my love,” he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.

“What?” What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.

“Azriel?” Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.

Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.

The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.

As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.

If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.

Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.

Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.

You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.

When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.

Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.

You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.

A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?

“Leave us alone, Amren.” Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.

Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. “I hope you know what you're doing, boy.” She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?

Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.

“That's not my name,” you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.

He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.

You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.

“It's not poisoned,” he offers, “I promise.” You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.

Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.

“What's your name?” You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.

“Azriel,” his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.

You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.

The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.

“I don't know you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him, “I feel like I should.”

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[the-original-skipps]

|| A Heart Left Behind. || Wind Breaker Reactions ||

*smacks lips* it was getting a little too fluffy around here lol

please read PART 1 first before this one!

CW: angst. mentions of violence, injury, blood, suicide, hallucinations. character death.

: Sakura Haruka. Suo Hayato. Nirei Akihito. Umemiya Hajime. Kaji Ren. Endo Yamato.

"We are sorry to inform you, but the patient has unfortunately passed away."

❥ Sakura could feel his entire world crumbling, with each fragment a piece of you. The voices of the doctor, the people around him fading away like distant noise. His vision blurs, confused; Sakura reaches to lightly brush over his surprisingly wet cheek. Oh, they're tears. The doctor could only look at the poor boy sympathetically, before being jerked forward in surprise. As tears flow endlessly, Sakura grabs a fist full of the doctor's pristine white coat. He shouts in confusion and anger - unbelieving of the words just uttered. You couldn't possibly be gone. You promised that you'd take him to the aquarium next week, you promised him you'd let him taste the cookies you tried to bake. Despite all the promises made you’re gone now; forever out of his reach and it was all his fault. With realization, regrets start bubbling within him as his arms fall limply to his side. Thinking about all the times he could have spent with you. He should have hugged you more, told you that you were truly beautiful and kissed you each time like it was going to be the last. It should have been him. Just as you’ve given him a reason to live, now you’ve gone and taken it with you.

“T-Tell me, how am I supposed to live w-without you...?”

❥ Suo remembers the vivid moment, when the doctor told him the news that changed everything. He remembers smiling and thanking the doctor for trying their best, even though his heart felt like it had just been ripped out and his mind sank into darkness. He also remembers when he stood amongst a sea of blood and bodies as the darkness fully consumed him. Sakura and Nirei look onwards with shock and despair, powerless in trying to stop him. The ones who've hurt you in a state of near death but why didn't he feel satisfied? Only when Nirei screamed that you'd never be happy seeing him like this, does the realization hit. When you've left, you've left a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be that could never be filled again. Now, he stands in front of your grave - a bouquet of flowers he arranged personally for you. A bouquet of purple lilies, anemones and white chrysanthemums which symbolizes grief and eternal love. He promises for as long as he still lives, he'll atone for the fact he couldn't save you. When he sees you again, does he still deserve to be hugged like you used to?

"Until we meet again, my love."

❥ Nirei doesn't remember the last time he left his room. A room filled with mountains of rubbish, discarded ramen cups, empty water bottles and other miscellaneous trash and he sits in the middle of it. His precious notebook is forgotten beneath everything. Ever since you died, Nirei couldn't find the passion nor the will to live. Suo, Sakura and all his classmates tried their best to pull him back up but it was all worthless. If it isn't your hand that pulls him back up. Your memory haunts him in this empty room, with each one bringing him to tears - his chest unbearably tight. He rocks himself from side to side as tears flood his eyes, clutching his head in his hands whispering assurances to himself. The weight of your death prevented him from rising, after all it was his fault it happened. Sometimes he swears he could hear you in this very room, belittling him and spitting insults. Most of all blaming him for the reason behind your death. It's unbearable, when will it stop? A thought flashes in his mind that has him briefly smiling. Maybe there is a solution to forever escape from the pain.

"I-If I die, will you forgive me...?"

❥ Umemiya smiles as he looks down at his work. A patch of broccolis growing big and green, he reaches over and lightly touches them. Imagine the look of excitement you'd have at seeing your favorite vegetables. Until a grim thought crosses his mind that sets a frown on his face. You’ve passed away. The memory has his fists clenched and eyes burning in trying to hold back tears that threaten to spill. Only when he hears Hiragi clear his throat from behind him, does Umemiya snap out of his thoughts. Pulling himself together, he brightly smiles at his trusted friend - thanking him for coming but what he says next has Hiragi in utter shock. With his eyes fixed on your favorite vegetables and a sad smile on his face. Umemiya states that he will no longer hold the position of Bofurin's leader and the position will be passed onto Hiragi instead. Shocked and enraged Hiragi pulls Umemiya forward with a fist full of his white shirt, demanding he take back his words but the longer Hiragi stares at his friend he realizes. That the once bright eyes no longer shined, only reflecting emptiness back to him.

"I couldn't protect (Y/N), I can longer be trusted to protect everyone."

❥ Kaji stands, leaning casually against a chain fence with his usual headphones to his ears, a song playing - a blank stare on his face. Enomoto comes running panting with Kusumi following close behind. Enomoto's eyes widen in shock at the scene in front of him. His class leader sitting, his fists bloodied - a spread of unconscious bodies surrounding him. Kaji doesn't even look at his friends, ignoring them as he properly stands - brushing past them to walk away until Enomoto stops him with a hand to his shoulder. As the hand touches Kaji's shoulder, a switch happens - he angrily swats his friend's hand away. Enomoto and Kusumi stood in shock, the look on Kaji's face was the same face he used to have years ago. His usual blue eyes swirling with sadness and rage. A deep emptiness infixed within him. Ever since you died, he no longer knew he was or who to be anymore. Your guiding hand no longer extended towards him. Enomoto tries talk some sense into his friend that what he was doing was wrong but Kaji answers back with only shouts colored in anger. The sudden movement knocks Kaji's headphones from his head. A familiar song played from the device, Enomoto and Kasumi knew it well. It was your favorite song.

"Don't you get it?! T-This is the only way I can feel something!"

❥ Endo stares up into the bright full moon, as he sits on a swing. The deserted playground he's at is quiet, with only the whispers of the wind. He looks to a swing beside him. He can see the ghost of your figure sitting on it, asking him if he could push you. At the vision, a smile creeps upon Endo's face - you look so happy and beautiful calling out to him. Unconsciously, he reaches a hand out towards you, only to brush against nothing. The image of you disappearing like sand to the wind. It often happens, a memory of you attached to everything around him - that's how much he sees you even when you’re gone. He believes that he sees you but only to meet with disappointment and a blank space where you used to be. On nights where he's left to his own thoughts, the image of you becomes clearer as if you were really there. He swears you spoke to him with your usual sweet voice and he happily replied back. He doesn't want to accept that you're gone, his entire being rejecting the notion but deep down inside he knows that you’re truly gone from this world. Even if he knows that they're only illusions created by his own mind, it's the only way he won't succumb to the loneliness of your absence. Maybe one day, when he reaches out to you he’ll actually get to touch your soft skin again. Until then he’ll keep reaching out to you.

"When will you come to see me again, (Y/N)?"

[sadhours]

the diner - part one

billy hargrove x fem!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, stalking, murder, toxic relationship, trauma, hallucinations, flayed!billy, peeping Tom, masturbation briefly mentioned, horror

He survived. Somehow— someway. Billy survived. Took care of what he should have so long ago. But that monster lingers, still alive within him.

You’re an innocent girl who works next door to him and he can’t help himself. Could you help him or is he too sick?

read on ao3

part two

Rain slips down, leaving clean streaks across the scum splattered front window of the shop. It’s deep into the evening, town’s asleep except for the truck stop directly next door. Bright lights illuminating the gas pumps, convenience store and the 50’s style diner. The one you work at.

And in the darkness of Route One Garage, Billy stands at the window. Watching. Eyes following as your hair bobs up and down with your steps as you run around the diner. Taking orders, filling coffee cups, carrying hot plates of greasy food made on grills cleaned less often than the health department wants. He’s eaten there, knows you can taste the filth in the food. But it’s the only place to get food this late for miles. The place is full of truckers, different faces but they might as well be the same copy of a person. In and out all day long. Billy’s seen the way they talk to you, been witness to it and just sat there with his blood boiling. Didn’t do anything about it because he’s a pussy and also, because you don’t know him. Sure, he comes in semi-regularly but he doesn’t really talk to you. He can’t for some reason. But before he moved to this teeny, shithole of a place, Billy wasn’t like this. He could talk to any woman. You didn’t look at him like most women did, though.

He watches you like this almost every night. Every night you’re there. Fantasizes about the things he wants to do to you. Sometimes those things are questionable, violent even but sometimes they’re just fantasies of talking to you— making you fall in love.

But he did something that woke up these dark demons deep in him. Well, two things.

Billy still has visions of the shape shifting monster. Haunts his dreams. Recalls each time he led an innocent person to the monster. Regretted not leading his father to the monster. So when he crawled out of the slimy, pulsing portal. He found his dad. Did what he’d always been too weak to do. Billy wonders if that monster still possesses him. If there’s still some of those black, gunky slugs in his stomach. Puked them up for weeks, it felt like.

But he’s thousands of miles from Hawkins. Though it feels like part of him is still contaminated. Made him reclusive, awkward, scarred up. Maybe that’s why he’s scared to talk to you. He knows he doesn’t look like he used to. His hair’s longer, his eyes are darker, his body has starfish shaped scars patterned all over. That charm has been evacuated. He’s not as suave.

Obsessive. That’s how he is now and he knows it but he can’t stop himself.

Billy knows where you work, he knows what you drive and he knows where you live. He has the name of your boss, your parents and your ex boyfriend. He’s followed you to the dive bar in town, walked around the general store and kept his eye on you and the things you buy. He’s full blown stalking you. It’s not his fault, though. That monster gave him this sickness and this town gave him loneliness. A recipe for disaster.

And you’re just so fucking pretty. The way your face lights up when you smile stains his eyes when he closes them. If he focuses hard enough he can hear your voice. Same script over and over.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Shop busy, today?”

“Usual tonight?”

“Coffee, eggs over easy, hash browns , extra bacon and sausage, right?”

“Want some more coffee?”

“Anything else tonight? Maybe some apple pie?”

“Ya sure? It’s really good apple pie, I promise.”

“I’ll just get your check, then.”

Sometimes Billy can finish when he’s thinking about those words. Which is sick and he knows that but he feels like he can’t help himself. Wonders what you think of him. You’re not a bitch or anything but you don’t ever look at him like girls used to look at him. Nothing like the moms laid out by the pool. Not like you think he’s good looking but like he’s any other face you see. Which infuriates him but makes him sad about himself more than anything. Occasionally he looks at himself in the mirror until he feels sick. Until he sees his dad. Tells himself he needs a haircut, needs to shave the mustache. Sleep more so he can lose the bags under his eyes. Maybe you’d look at him differently.

The lights flicker, buzz loud enough he can hear it in the shop. He leaves. Locks up the place and his boots take him to the diner. To the same booth he always sits in. Lights up a smoke and meets your eyes from across the place. You don’t flush the way girls used to. In fact, Billy can’t register any kind of reaction on your face. So he flicks his ash on the floor because you’ll have to sweep it up and it feels like he won. Won what? He doesn’t really know, but he wants you to clean up his mess. Gives him some kind of satisfaction.

The script starts when you walk up. A variation of it.

“Late tonight,” you say, filling up his coffee cup without asking. “Must be busy.”

“Sure,” he says. Always keeps it short because you don’t meet his eyes and he can’t meet yours. Instead he stares at your hands, pretty fingers wrapped around the carafe’s handle.

You walk away. To put the coffee away he guesses. Stares at the mug, wraps his own fingers around it and takes a careful sip. His eyes find you behind the counter, giving a look of disdain to your coworker who said something and then you grin. Laugh at whatever she said to you. Then you’re back at his booth and his eyes fall to the table as the script resumes.

“Usual?”

“Yeah.”

“Eggs over easy, hash browns, extra bacon and sausage,” you recite from memory and Billy gets a bit of satisfaction from it. Proud of you for some reason.

“You remember,” he says, low and steady.

You scoff and chuckle, the sound makes his thighs tighten and you say, “Kind of hard to forget it. You’ve never changed it.”

Bold for some reason, he replies, “Maybe I should.”

“We do have a whole six pages on that menu. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you open it, though,” you offer and this is new. It’s off script. Both you and him.

Billy smirks, flips open the menu and peers down at the first page. It’s greasy, a stain of sticky jam at the top left corner and he immediately catches a typo. He purses his lips and continues to flick through it. You pull the notepad from your apron but he’s too nervous to look up at your face. He flips another page and then, finally, looks up at your face.

“What do you like?”

You look shocked. He likes that.

“Uh,” you laugh, a soft little sound and Billy’s skin is hot. “Our patty melt is pretty damn good.”

He closes the menu, slides to the end of the table as he replies, “I’ll have that then.”

“Wow, you’re full of surprises tonight,” you quip, “Fries or potato salad.”

“Why don’t you give me a surprise,” Billy says and then looks away because you’re too fucking gorgeous and he’s on a roll. Kind of feels like his old self right now and looking at you would fuck that up.

You pick up the menu and laugh again, “Sure thing.”

You walk away and he takes a hit of his neglected cigarette, ash falling to the table as he does so. Another mess of his for you to clean. Makes his whole body tingle at the thought. You don’t check on him before his food is done. But Billy keeps checking on you, eyes bouncing up to follow you as you work. Finishes his cigarette and coffee. Takes in the uniform you’re in. The big, bold name on the pin clasped into your blouse.

When you bring his food, you ask, “Got anymore surprises for me tonight?” and his mind runs wild. Sick fantasies. Ideas that make him feel guilty and the charm he’d felt after years slips far, far away.

“No.”

But you say, “Good. Don’t wanna overwhelm me too much.”

You fill his coffee again and walk away. Then he eats and the script resumes as normal. He pays. Sits in his car until all the lights in the diner shut off. Watches you walk to your car, waits a beat after you drive off before he starts his car and follows you. To your house. Keeps waiting until you go inside to park behind your car on the street and watch the numerous lights flick on and off. Aiding in him as he imagines exactly how your night plays out. He thinks you go into the kitchen first. Maybe you get a drink, perhaps a beer. When he’s followed you to the bar, he’s seen you drink beer. Then that lights flicks off and the TV turns on. Can see the variety of brightness and colors through the window. He thinks of what you might watch. Imagines sitting on the couch with you, cuddled up. His thoughts get perverted quickly and before he knows it, he’s staring at your window with his dick in his hand with the fantasy of your mouth on him.

After he finishes, he’s still watching. Until the changing lights of the TV go black and a different light turns on. Bathroom. That window is small. You brush your teeth, maybe wash your face. He takes this time to get out of his car, walk to the window on the side of the house, crouch down and peer through the broken blinds. Your bedroom. You turn the light on, back to the bathroom to turn that light off and return. Close your door and undress. You sleep nude but you keep a robe next to your bed. You flick off the light. Sink into bed and Billy stays for a while. Until he knows you’re asleep. He thinks about sneaking inside but he hasn’t gathered the gusto to do so yet. The whole watching you through the window is new enough. But he’ll escalate soon. Won’t be able to help himself.

Then Billy goes home. Back to his shady little apartment. Falls asleep on the couch with infomercials playing on the TV. He’ll wake up and do the same thing again tomorrow.

—

Dark tendrils wrap around his wrists and ankles. Pull him in opposite directions. His eyes are wide open but his body feels paralyzed. He tries to scream but it’s gargled and there’s a monster limb attaching to his mouth, pulsing down his throat. Fills his belly with baby slugs. The sticky limb retreats him and the constraints on his ankles and wrists unravel and he’s shaking. Thrashing. Screaming. Crying. Pleading.

Then Billy’s awake, sits up straight and pants. Looks around his room and there’s nothing there. Just him and the mess of his belongings. He cries. Then he showers. Makes himself vomit and he sees no slugs. No sludge. Just the dinner and foamy beers he had. Billy showers, water so hot it burns— turns his skin patchy red and tingly. He vomits again. Watches the sick circle the drain. Cries some more. Feels the loneliest he’s ever been. Wonders why he can’t kill himself. Why he doesn’t have the strength to do that.

He’s up too early. Doesn’t work for another three hours. Billy paces his apartment. Chain smokes and pounds coffee. He briefly thinks of Maxine. Stalks over to his freezer and reaches in it for the bottle of vodka he keeps in there and guzzles some of it down. Drowns out Max. Maybe he should make sure you get to work safe. He has to do something. Anything.

The drive to your house is routine, but he doesn’t often do it in daylight. Can’t risk you seeing him, so Billy parks a couple houses down. Chain smokes while he waits and soon enough, you’re walking to your car.

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Caught

Yandere!Demon x Gn!HauntedReader

warnings: mentions of bullying, sleep paralysis, mentions of hallucinations, paranoia, drugging, attempted kidnapping, attempted murder, murder, gore, death

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Slender gnarly hands slithered over your exposed skin, curling around your throat, squeezing so tightly that black spots floated around your vision.

You were being chocked.

A silent scream was caged in your throat, while your eyes ripped wide open and death was awaiting you, and you couldn't do a single thing other than stare into two large orbs of never ending black depth.

This was your final moment, the last seconds on earth, you had to do something, anything or else you were going to die—

Or were you?

Hiccuping and gasping you awoke to your sheets drenched in sweat, trembling all over with the sensations of needles pricking your limps, all of them heavy and uncomfortable.

You were always a weird kid, since childhood to be precise. You see things that are not there, feel things that shouldn't be able to be felt and hear whispers in the dead of night. You know of things that you should not know of, things that no one else has discovered yet.

Groaning you drag yourself up, swinging one leg over the other, ascending to your numb feet, barely catching yourself before you fall down again. It's horrible, each morning you awake to a body exhausted and aged, as if you were never granted rest.

Another day of your boring job, simmering away in an office, an occupation you loathe, with coworkers regarding you with the same disturbed glances and hushed whispers that have haunted you your whole life.

Perhaps you may feel strongly, stronger than any other person in the room, but they can sense it, the air of animosity around you. That cursed energy emitting from you.

Maybe that's why every single man you were interested in, killed himself after the very first date.

The hours in the office rolled around painstakingly slowly, yet somehow the seconds faded into minutes and then into hours. You were used to the lingering judgement around you, that none of your colleagues meant it when they smiled at you waving you goodbye as you finished for the day, yet what you weren't used to was for him.

He, your office crush, to approach you.

“Good work today.” he mentioned casually, dropping praises onto you as if you were a golden hen instead of the mascot for all things depressing. You knew what they whispered behind your back, how unbearably edgy you were.

“Uh, Thanks.” you sputtered overwhelmed by the sudden attention, which wasn't unwelcomed by any means but definitely alarming. Alarming in that sense that you now feared for this man’s life.

“Would you like to join us? We’re going out to eat at the new Italian. Might be fun.” he offered lightheartedly with the same picture perfect smile that you fell for.

Instead of joy, you felt your fear now unfolding infront of your very eyes. You just couldn't allow him to also commit the same mistake as all the others. So you flashed him an anxious smile, acting as if you were oh-so busy, apologizing profusely and thanking him.

Yet he was more stubborn than you initially assumed.

“It's really not that expensive if that's what you're worried about! And the food is great. Besides I think it wouldn't be so bad if you opened up more, would make you certainly more popular among our colleagues!” he exclaimed energetically, overly confident, with such a glimmer in his eyes as if he knew, knew about those gnarly fingers that kept trying to choke you. You shook your head at yourself, you were succumbing to paranoia again, this had to stop besides he was right though, you needed to at least try to make this better for you, and it wasn't a date anyways.

So it was win-win, right?

That's at least what you had hoped for. And yet it turned out yo be a disaster. Their burning gazes never leaving you, so penetrating with unfiltered judgement bordering on almost hatred, you couldn't stand it.

Admittedly as the night progressed and you after you managed to pull yourself together after a mini meltdown in the bathroom did things starten to loosen up, well your colleagues certainly did through the help of alcohol. So you started to be drowned in the mass of boisterous laughter and messy gossiping, making you finally stop sticking out like a sore thumb.

Perfect that's what he wanted.

While everyone was too occupied, it was easy to watch you in silence, face a perfect facade, he knew you, that knew the moment you staggered, blinking slowly.

“Hey—everything okay?” asked one of your colleagues who was intimidated by you, yes, but not heartless enough to not notice the odd way your eyes moved, pupils dilating and shrinking, while you felt fuzzy all over, as if you were the one that chugged two beers instead of her.

Before you could even answer, your colleague who had been so kind to invite you jumped up in concern. Worry lacing his tone as he suddenly laid his palm flat against your forehead, startling you with the sudden intimate gesture.

“Are you sick? I wouldn't have suggested you join us if I knew you were sick.” he muttered seemingly more to himself than you, while all you could do was watch in silence, your voice refusing to work no matter how hard you tried.

From then on it was all a blur, you heard all of the noise at once, everything overwhelming and overly stimulating your senses as a arm was draped over your waist, squeezing your midrift slightly as the restaurant faded into nothingness.

There was something like a breeze softly tickling your nape, no, it was someone breathing down your back—it was him, you made out, the colleague who was guiding you to his car.

“Don't worry.” you felt something wet against your neck, body so numb you were uncertain how you were even able to walk. “I will be gentle.” he breathed into your ear, reminding you of same haunting voices that whispered into your ear every night.

You didn't even understand what was happening, his words failing to properly register into your mind, as he dragged you into his car, placing you in the passenger seat like a ragdoll while you couldn't even keep your head upright.

There was only this silent scream deeply plunged in your chest, some sort of instinctive panic, that tried to wake your body up, but nothing, you could only sit there trying to fight off sleep as the engine started.

“Took some time.” he groaned, starting to laugh. It wasn't a laugh you ever heard from him before. That laugh was unhinged, squeaky and something you would hear from a killer in a horror movie.

“Y’know how hard it was to get my fingers on that drug? Phew! Took ages to be discreet! But it worked! God it worked!” he laughed, his tone starting to sound like nails scratching against those green boards you saw in school.

“Fuck—you’re a real weirdo but so hot, god! No one would miss you anyways—easy. And you're just so dumb too! You didn't even think twice about trusting me—or well you didn't have another choice with how drugged you are right now!” you felt your chest tighten, thoughts muddled yet one was clear, concreted in the forefront of your mind—that you had to find a way to escape.

And that opportunity presented itself to you so swiftly, so brashly and so painfully you regretted wishing for it.

You couldn't even make out what occurred, only the sudden flickering of lights, something indescribably loud ringing in your ears, making you want to claw your eardrums out and before you realized it the car tumbled over and crashed.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in Breathe out—

For a moment there was only this ringing, similar to that of a buzzing of a phone, before you glanced over at what remained of you colleague; a pulp of red, raw flesh.

You gagged, but before you could lose yourself in a sea of despair you felt slender, gnarly, icy cold fingers caress your cheek.

“You're mine, human.”

it was an omnipresent voice, words not uttered but received by you nevertheless.

Cursed with the gift of knowing things others couldn't, you were also cursed with living with the owner of those gnarly fingers that gently wrapped around your throat squeezing so tightly until peace crept inside every nook and cranny of your brain, lulling your eyes back into your skull.

[blood-starved-beast]

The Significance of the Family Visiting Jinx in her Prison Cell (s2ep8 Analysis)

I was pondering why Silco’s vision’s design in s2ep8 was more realistic than all of Jinx’s other hallucinations and in doing so it occurred to me that the people who visit Jinx in her cell all attended in person her Dinner party in s1ep9. And in contrast to when she was picking them up then, they are specifically coming to her, they are visiting her, and they all are telling her things. This to me recalls how often in s1 act 2-3 the hallucinations of Mylo and Claggor would “visit” Jinx and haunt her thoughts. Family haunted her then, and they “haunt” her now. But what they tell her has changed, and why (part of the reason of course, is cause 2 of them live, as opposed to the hallucinations, but for symbolic purposes bear with me).

Let me Elaborate:

1 – Caitlyn

                First of the “hauntings” comes from the sister-in-law who so happens to be the First of those Jinx picked up back in s1ep9 (a motif that will repeat). Now what Caitlyn tells Jinx is interesting. Much like in the Dinner Scene Cait is hostile – she flings back Jinx’s crimes – their crimes, cause Caitlyn is not innocent in all this. She is Jinx’s foil, and much like Jinx herself she regrets the actions she has taken in her grief, in her own lost of self. Thus when she rages at herself here via Jinx, her rage is a reflection of what Jinx feels about herself. The anger, the regret, the sorrow, the exhaustion over the continual hatred – that is mirrored in Jinx. Jinx herself feels these things, about the actions she has taken over the course of the show. She is tired of the cycle of violence she has perpetuated. Caitlyn is the monster Jinx created, and as such, she fulfills the role of “Mylo” in this scenario – she represents all the things that Jinx beats herself over. She tells her Vi believes she’s changed. Jinx responds in kind. This mirroring between the two is also why Jinx tells her that she regrets her actions towards Cassandra – it wouldn’t have changed anything just as Jinx’s regret to killing her brothers and Silco wouldn’t have changed anything then or now – but she does.

                Caitlyn also comes with a proposal (a motif that will continue with each visit) – she offers Jinx a “way out” in the form of Atonement. She gives Jinx one chance to make up for her crimes. She asks Jinx to return to the fray – to return to the Cycle of Violence one could say – with a different mindset. Redemption. With Caitlyn, Jinx frees herself of that guilt she carries – she is able to face down the Monster this time and quell it (via apology). She relieves herself of the burden of carrying that guilt – who gets to give second chances, and Caitlyn does so here, but Jinx also allows herself the opportunity to get a second chance.

                Side detail – Caitlyn paces at first at the start of the scene in a way that is reminiscent of how she did when she interrogated Vi in s1ep5 but also when she arrives at Singed’s cell in s2ep5. Similarly, her pacing is also like how Silco would come to pace in front of Jinx’s cell. Ultimately, she does not free Jinx, and she leaves empty-handed.

2 – Silco

Second “visit” comes from Silco, second of those Jinx captured and the only actually hallucination here. This version of Silco is the one that I think represents Jinx’s thoughts exactly. Hallucination aside, I don’t know if actual Silco got to the point to think of this. Or rather, he never lived to get to that point. He talks about how people trap themselves in these cycles – similarly, Jinx had herself “trapped” not only in the cycle of violence since s1, but also in actuality here when she gives herself up. Jinx too tried to fight her “jailors” people such as “Caitlyn” who Jinx saw as a threat cause of her proximity to Vi but in doing so, perpetuated the cycle, and created another beast in the process. She creates a similar monster out of Vi, whose violence she goes against leads to Vi becoming a Cop but also indirectly to Vi’s own spiral (and journey into destructive violence – towards herself). He ends his convo that the best way to deal with this is to run away – Jinx takes it at first as suicide, but redefines it to free the rest of the family of the baggage that comes with the cycle.

Now Silco’s appearance which started this train of thought for me – his appearance is significant in that it not only falls “in line” with how Jinx sees the other family visits, but also represents Jinx’s psyche. Gone are the scribbles not only cause Jinx’s split personality is gone – Jinx has more than accepted that she is Jinx and is depressed about it. But also, it represents a maturation of Jinx herself – the scribbles in addition to their chaos, were also childish. Here, Jinx hallucinates like Vi does – actual people. The hexgem, the only fantastical element is not real (“falls” out of Jinx’s mouth but not really; the enforcers wouldn’t have let Jinx keep it and she wasn’t in a place to hide it).

The hexgem represents the deal Silco had with her – build the Weapon so they can get back at Piltover. But it also has the double purpose here of representing Silco’s eye – it is Silco’s words are the ones who impact Jinx the most. Just as he was the one to shape Jinx, he “redeems” himself by telling Jinx that there is a way out, that she can break this cycle that has ruined so much for her. She doesn’t take it the Right way, but she does arrive at it eventually. Thus, the same way the hexgem started rifts in Powder/Jinx’s life, here they work to reverse that. To save it.

3 – Vi

Last to be picked up and last to “haunt” Jinx is Vi. Vi is interesting cause she is sweet, not lecturing like Silco, or even accusatory like Caitlyn. Vi comes in with love and affection. Like Caitlyn she gives a second chance, but this one seems to be tinged in that heroism, that position of Symbol Jinx has throughout s2. The idea to “rewrite her story [in Piltover] just like you did in Zaun.” This is fascinating in that it recalls to mind what she told Jinx in s1ep2 – that the city will “respect us.” In a way, Vi’s talk here seems to be a return to s1act 1 in a way – she is supportive of Jinx’s “explosive potential” as opposed to referring to “ugly gadgets and chickenshit tricks,” as she was in s1act 1 before the Slap. She represents the part of Jinx still deep down, believes in herself (and Ekko was able to pull out later). Vi the protector, protects Jinx from complete despair.  

But in wanting to rebuild those connections, to embrace the Concept of being a Symbol, Jinx would be essentially walking back into the past. To return to that cycle of violence that plagues it. To risk losing her sister in the manner that she lost everyone else. So she rejects this offer, but ironically, does so in a manner that locks Vi into that cell, into that cycle and leaves her there until Caitlyn sets her free. Vi is the one to free Jinx so that Jinx can go and break the cycle.

Conclusion

                All in all, the family mirrors different aspects of what Jinx believes about herself, while also offering different “escapes” or different recources Jinx could take. They reflect Jinx's own thoughts while speaking through their own experiences. Bits of pieces from them all Jinx departs the prison with, and ultimately when she leaves Piltover/Zaun for good. Jinx imprisoned physically and mentally, is now freed.

[watchnrant]

Agatha All AlongEpisode 3: Easter Egg Breakdown

Amulets

Every Witch Has One (Not Just Agatha)

A key detail from this episode is the revelation that every witch in the coven has their own amulet, not just Agatha. As the witches traverse the Witches’ Road, which transforms into a sandy walkway leading to a beach house, their attire shifts to match the setting, yet their amulets remain. This small but significant touch teases the potential deeper importance of amulets for MCU witches and possibly hints at their connection to power and identity within witchcraft.

Big Little Lies Reference

An Homage to HBO's Big Little Lies

Mrs. Hart’s (Debra Jo Rupp) remark about the beach house feeling like it’s straight out of "Huge Tiny Lies" is a clever nod to Big Little Lies. This HBO show, which revolves around secrets and a murder investigation in a wealthy seaside town, is reflected in the trial-like proceedings in this episode. From the luxurious coastal setting to the suspense-filled plot, this homage adds another layer to Agatha All Along, showcasing Marvel’s playful engagement with pop culture.

Mephisto Confirmed?

Agent of Mephisto

The episode drops a significant hint about Mephisto’s potential existence in the MCU. When Jennifer Hale speaks to Teen, she warns him about Agatha, citing dark rumors about her trading her son, Nicholas Scratch, for the Darkhold. According to these whispers, Nicholas became an agent of Mephisto, confirming that the demon lord may already be operating behind the scenes. This moment sets the stage for larger MCU implications, tying in with long-standing fan theories about Mephisto's involvement in mystical storylines.

Trading Her Son for the Darkhold

"She Wouldn’t Recognize Her Own Son"

In a chilling revelation, Jennifer suggests that Agatha wouldn't recognize her son if he appeared before her. This is a subtle clue that Teen might actually be Nicholas Scratch, Agatha’s long-lost son, rather than the presumed reincarnation of Wanda’s son Billy (aka Wiccan). The mystery surrounding Teen’s identity deepens, making this a key narrative thread for future episodes.

Alice Wu’s Tattoo

Cursed Women & Protection

Alice Wu-Gulliver (Ali Ahn) reveals the story behind her tattoo, which was given to her at age 13 to ward off a family curse.

Teen also shares that something significant happened to him when he was 13. Given that Teen is now 16 and WandaVision occurred three years ago, this suggests a connection to Wanda Maximoff, further fueling the theory that Teen may be Billy Kaplan.

This conversation is filled with subtle clues that connect characters through shared trauma and mysterious pasts.

Mrs. Hart’s Hallucination

"Please…Wanda, Let Him Breathe!"

Mrs. Hart's hallucination brings back a haunting moment from WandaVision. Near the end of the episode, she is shown begging Wanda to "let him breathe," seemingly reliving the traumatic death of her husband, which may have been caused by the limitations of Wanda's Hex. In WandaVision, many residents were trapped in loops or frozen, and this new revelation implies that Mrs. Hart’s husband was among the unintended victims of Wanda’s control. It’s a tragic callback to the consequences of Wanda’s grief and power.

Lilia’s Premonition

"Try to Save Agatha"

Lilia’s sudden outburst, "Try to save Agatha," feels like an eerie premonition. This brief but impactful moment hints that Agatha may soon face grave danger, and saving her could become a central objective for the other witches. It’s a well-placed piece of foreshadowing that could hint at Agatha’s future role in the MCU.

Coven's Hallucinations

Facing Past Traumas

Each witch in Agatha’s coven faces a nightmarish hallucination tied to their deepest traumas.

Alice relives her mother's grief over her grandmother’s death, feeling a terrifying sense of inherited doom.

Jennifer’s hallucination shows her facing a man—possibly a doctor or priest—who calls her an "inconvenient woman" and tries to drown her.

Lilia’s vision is especially haunting, as she encounters a demon-looking nun after following a mysterious teenage girl.

These hallucinations provide insight into the coven members' pasts and suggest that their traumas are far from resolved.

Agatha’s Hallucination

Did She Trade Her Son for the Darkhold?

Agatha's hallucination is particularly disturbing. She approaches a baby’s bassinet, only to find the Darkhold in place of the infant. This vision supports Jennifer's earlier claim that Agatha traded her son for the Book of the Damned, but Agatha’s horrified reaction suggests that there is much more to this story. The moment reveals Agatha’s internal conflict and deep-seated regrets, adding depth to her character’s motivations.

Hansel and Gretel Reference

Lilia’s Friend and the Oven

Lilia's brief mention of her friend who went into an oven is a dark reference to the classic Hansel and Gretel tale. In the context of witches and burning, this could symbolize the fate of witches who face persecution or punishment, tying into the show's overall themes of betrayal and survival.

[bitethedustfools]

TWST story idea (3)

Warning: Death and mild spoiler alert

Ace, Deuce, and Grim witnessed Yuu's death. It was horrible, traumatizing even. The vision of their death haunted them and played repeatedly in their minds, even as the monster in the dwarf mine was defeated.

They saw the way Yuu slowly succumbed to death from a front-row seat. The pickaxe impaled them in the middle of their chest with a sickening noise, slicing it open and splattering everything that wasn't supposed to be outside.

Yuu screamed as blood gushed out of their mouth continuously, "Kill it! Kill it quickly!"

They were terrified to move. Yuu's eyes slowly lost their light, staring at them.

It was too much; they barely remembered how they defeated the monster. However, they knew they truly defeated it because the monster's ink-like blood covered their uniform and stained their skin.

They returned to NRC with complicated feelings and a bloody magestone in hand.

How else were they going to explain that Yuu was dead? That it was their own fault that led to Yuu's death?

They confessed to the headmaster with a trembling voice filled with regret and sorrow, their eyes puffy with tears as they presented a bloody magestone stained with ink.

Only for Yuu to rush in through the door with an exasperated look.

"Hey! Why did you guys leave me behind?"

"H-huh? What?"

"Why are you here!?"

"Aren't you dead???"

An offended look crossed Yuu's face, "Guys, this isn't funny. After what we've gone through? Are you saying you want me dead?"

They got confused. Yuu is alive? But they just witnessed their death not too long ago, yet Yuu is here and fine? Sure, their uniform is tattered and also bloody…

They bring it up to Yuu, and Yuu scoffs, "What? You guys got so scared you started to hallucinate? As you can see, I'm still alive."

They spend the rest of the day thinking that maybe they did hallucinate; otherwise, it wouldn't explain why Yuu is still here.

They witnessed Yuu's death again when Riddle overblot. Trey was too slow to save Yuu, and Yuu got smashed to a pulp by the rose tree that the monster held. There was nothing left that resembled Yuu, just flesh and bones flattened on the ground with hair sticking out.

The trio screamed in horror, remembering the tragedy that may or may not have happened in the mine dwarf. Cater was taken off guard and went green at the grotesque sight, covering his mouth to stop himself from vomiting. Trey gasped, feeling a lump in his throat. He had locked eyes with Yuu just a few seconds ago and failed to do anything to save them.

When Riddle woke up in a daze, everyone around showed complicated expressions. The trio looked like they wanted to throttle Riddle, their faces full of animosity. Cater looked detached and was now pale. He was also standing still and spacing out, which was unlike him. He looked like he was trying to process something.

And Trey, Trey looked at him like he was disappointed and also regretful. His eyes were rather glassy, and his mouth opened and snapped shut repeatedly, gulping in between as though he couldn't decide what to tell him.

"You overblot, and Yuu… is dead."

It wasn't the greatest news to listen to when he wasn't aware of what he had become and had done. Riddle's face immediately morphed to horror before bawling and mumbling in between sobs about how sorry he was and how he didn't mean to.

"Guys, the headmaster is here!" yelled Yuu while panting from running, Crowley, the headmaster, followed behind them, looking worriedly at his surroundings and the victims.

In an instant, everyone's eyes went round with confusion and shock, as if they had seen a ghost. Then there were shouts, hugs, and other things.

Yuu huffed at their exclamations of seeing Yuu dead again. "Again? You guys need to see a doctor. I'm not sure why the others see me dead as well. I'm clearly alive."

"But, but—you were there!"

"Yeah, and then I went to fetch the headmaster! You guys are seeing things; I'm worried about you. You need to rest or something. It could be your imaginations and fear working together."

Despite their attempts to explain, Yuu merely cast a worried and slightly judgmental look toward them.

Yuu didn't believe them at all, and they began to doubt themselves.

This happened to multiple people. Some even said they saw Yuu fall to death, and when they came to check out, Yuu merely sprained their leg or broke a bone or two. Or when Yuu said theh knew how to fake their death when they got squeezed until their lips turned blue and breathed out their last breath as they went limp. The story of how they saw Yuu dead varied in so many ways.

And just like before, when one confronted Yuu about it, Yuu didn't believe them all, dismissing their sick sense of fun in murdering Yuu and told them to see a doctor, not taking their so-called traumatization of getting exposed to Yuu's death into consideration. They're losing their mind at this. They were not even alone in this, so what could be the reason they keep seeing Yuu's 'death'?

Could this be someone else's unique magic, or a disease that slowly affects Twisted Wonderland? Are they really that sick in the head to the point they imagine this?

It must be; there's no explanation to this mystery.

But the twist is this: Yuu got revived almost immediately, and all wounds will be healed, revealing no scars, and therefore, no evidence.

Yuu is fully aware of this, and they don't want to tell someone. So what did Yuu do when people happened to witness their death? They gaslight them all, and goddamn they nailed it. Sure, the others are spiraling into madness, but hey, Yuu's secret is safe.

Extra spice if they got really sick in the head and attempt to murder yuu just to prove something. Yuu either do like they always do or fake being a dead body until they got disposed of and then go far away just in case.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Sebastian Stan is Going to be in a Horror Movie!

I just found out Sebastian is going to be in a movie called, ‘Let the Evil Go West’ and I am so curious!

There’s so many questions considering the movie is still in pre production and we know so little about it. We do know that it will also be starring Lily James, his costar from Pam and Tommy so you know they work well together already.

Sebastian talks often about how he never wants to “play it safe”. He always shocks us with the roles he decides to take and this time he has absolutely done it again. I mean Yes, he was in Fresh (2022), and he did a wonderful job. However there is a big difference between that movie- (which was him playing a sexy psychopathic cannibal so well that many of us had to question our morals at the end when we debated whether or not we would have accepted an invitation to a home cooked meal made by Steve Kemp and actually been alright with eating the “main course” just to be able to experience the absolute roller coaster ride that we all know that psychopathic freak would have given between the sheets) -and this movie which seems to be a true psychological horror/thriller. This is truly something I never expected to see Sebastian do and thinking about it now I can only get even more excited because I think he is going to be amazing.

I would love him in anything but this man in a horror movie? This man in a movie about a haunting?! I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited for anything he’s been in ever!

(Apart from the Thunderbolts but that’s only because I read the comics as a kid and the Thunderbolts was my favorite group-The Winter Soldier was always my favorite cause he gave me trauma comfort 😅(pre-MCU when he was a proper Anti-Hero) so the excitement for that is unmatchable-it’s not their fault)

The guy is apparently a Railroad Worker (Sexy) that finds a fortune under “deeply disturbing circumstances”. Then he starts having horrible visions and hallucinations that are driving him completely mad (Crazy Sebastian? I’m Fuckin’ In!). The wife thinks their family has a demon or something attached to it and the movie follows the haunting experience.

Watching a sexy railroad working Sebastian Stan losing his mind while being ridden around by a demon that decided to hitch a ride to his back for reasons I’m sure we will find out eventually sounds absolutely amazing and I hope the rest of you Sebastian Stan fans (that have somehow read this crazy mess all the way through) will join me in getting Hype to see our leader give us a movie of sexy, sweaty railroad working Sebastian Stan losing his fucking shit while he’s being ridden around by a demon.

This might just be the best movie ever made…

[alea-jottun]

Arcane season 2 rewrite part two : Jayce (version 1 with the wild runes)

(other parts here)

Again, we can start with the classic LoL lore and add Arcane elements.

Jayce is horrified by the lengths Viktor is willing to go to in the name of progress. He refuses that hextech and shimmer be used on unwilling patients (even with the goal to save them), but he still thinks he can bring Viktor back to reason. In his mind, Viktor betrayed him, betrayed them both, their hextech dream and what they both believed in, but he can still make him see the errors of his ways. He feels terrible about the trial Viktor had to go through (especially since he was in his place a few years ago, and if Viktor had not supported him through this ordeal, he would have ended his own life) but to him it was the best, most peaceful solution to stop his partner. And now he is haunted by Viktor's expression as he voted to cut him out of Hextech and to banish him.

Therefore, after the fallout, in an attempt to explain himself, he tracks Viktor and Singed in Zaun and ends up finding them : upon realizing what Viktor has begun to do to his own body, Jayce flies off the handle and the two of them have a terrible fight.

Fast forward to a few years later.

The war between Piltover and Zaun rages on, with shimmer as its main fuel.

Jayce has become egotistical and prideful. His arrogance is fueled both by the adoration he's lavished in (although he cannot discern the difference between genuine admiration and sycophants wanting to use him for their own interests), and by the fact that in the lab, no one can keep up with him since Viktor left. No lab partner can ever equal Viktor, his brilliant mind, his sharp remarks, his dry humor. The void left by Viktor cannot be filled.

It doesn't help that now he has trouble sleeping unless he has emptied the liquor shelf. It doesn't help that he has to fight everyday to extinguish the voice of his conscience as he's making new weapons (it's to protect Piltover, it's because the Zaunites started it, the fights in broad daylight, it's because Viktor is supplying them with super soldiers, it's because the Council and the whole city is counting on him, who is he if he cannot be the Defender of the city, it's because-)

He refuses that any "Man of Progress" posters be installed in his own house.

The situation has been particularly unbearable this year, as the epidemic of shimmer has now taken to the steets of Piltover. Piltover citizens are getting addicted to the substance too. The councilors are conniving to put the blame on Jayce, blackmailing him with the fact that he tried to negociate peace with Zaun, only for Zaun to lauch a missile on the Council. Shimmer is no longer a pretense to keep Zaun in check, it it a real problem in both cities.

And then the wild runes appear.

Understanding that the wild runes must be stopped and that this urgency is beyond the current war, Jayce tries to get back in contact with Viktor. Unfortunately his efforts are fruitless.

And that's where he ends up touching a wild rune which sends him to the future in which Piltover is destroyed (it's a vision of the future, not an alternative universe. This distinction is important). I would keep most of Jayce's adventure in the wild rune the same as Arcane, because I really liked this idea (also the poetic imagery of him having to metaphorically tread the same path as Viktor, etc. And yes he still hallucinates Viktor in this^^)

Once Jayce is out, he embarks on his redemption path and apologises to Heimerdinger and Mel for the pain and troubles he has caused them (I need to work out the details, but in this AU their relationship has soured, because the war has put them all face to face with their contradictions and they cannot go on any longer.) With Heimerdinger's help (after he has explained to him the danger of the wild runes and Heimerdinger refrains very politely from saying "I told you so"), he finally locates Viktor. He has heard the rumors, about death and shimmer traffic, but also about saved lives and new filters and prosthetics, and he doesn't know what to think. Has Viktor changed as much as himself ? Is his partner still present, under the Herald ?

The realisation that he has deluded himself for so long hits him hard. He needs Viktor, needs him as a partner in the lab, in his life, needs his help to put an end to the madness that is the current war.

They finally meet (although Viktor has trouble believing Jayce wants anything other than to kill him), and finally begin to unravel the years of anger and resentment and lack of understanding that brought them to this point. They are both haunted men now, with their own demons, but a spark of reconciliation and hope has been lit...

...until Jayce asks Viktor to help him rid Piltover and Zaun of shimmer, and Viktor explains exactly how his body works.

This is the one thing Jayce has no right to ask.

He has condemned Viktor when he implanted the hexcore to save his life.

[yourlittlebunnyy]

Snow

main masterlist - kallias masterlist

summary: You loved each other, Suspended on a thread, Of snow.

warnings: death, happy but also not very happy ending

w/c: 4k

a/n: this fic is basically "snow" by maxence fermine

enjoy! 🤍

Your son decided to return to visit his now elderly father, who had retired to the top of a mountain.

At dawn he left the palace. Saying goodbye to his friends and his mate, he made his way north.

It was a journey to the sun of his heart. The purity of the world and of the light offered themselves to his gaze.

As he walked with slow steps along the road he felt a pure and shimmering joy. He was free and happy. He carried with him as his only baggage the gold of faith and his love for his father.

But what was to come happened. Wanting to love the snow of his Court too much, he forgot to fear it. And it almost devoured him with its love.

While crossing a mountain, he lost himself and his luggage in a terrible snowstorm. He fell prey to the fury of the elements and barely managed to save himself through makeshift shelter.

Your son found shelter under the overhang of a cliff, sheltered from the wind, and there, shivering with cold, at the end of his strength, alone in the thick of darkness, alone in the depths of the snow, alone in the vertigo of his loneliness, alone in his silence, where he could have died a hundred times of cold, hunger, fatigue, disappointment and exhaustion, he survived.

He survived because what he saw that night, that thing, that extraordinary thing that came from afar, that sublime and beautiful thing was the most beautiful and sublime image he had ever been allowed to see in his entire life. And that image he could never forget again.

That thing so beautiful was you. When your son crouched beneath the rocky overhang, you were there before his eyes. You looked as fragile as a dream. Remained forever a young female, clothed only in a light white robe despite the great cold. You were dead. And you were resting under a meter of ice.

You were not really resting. You were dead. But your coffin was as transparent as crystal. Your son immediately felt connected to you, a total stranger.

For him it was not like standing in front of a dead body. Yours was not an ordinary death. You were a wonderful presence.

First of all, you were wearing only a light robe. What were you doing, dressed like that, under three feet of ice? This was the first question that came to his mind. But he could not find an answer.

Where were you from? How long had you been a prisoner of that transparent, perennial trap? And, come to think of it, were you real?

You, the young female trapped under the ice, seemed to him as fragile and tender as a dream. The radiance of your golden hair responded like a flashlight flame. You clearly did not belong to his Court. Your eyelids, though closed, allowed the icy blue of your eyes to shine through, as if the wear and tear of the ice had diaphanoused the tenuous skin that protected your gaze. Your face was as white as snow.

He looked at you in silence, silently wondering why he felt so much affection for you.

He thought you were a dream.

It seemed to him that your image was being softly shaped by the geometry of his dreams. But in fact your vision was not the result of a hallucination at all. You stood there, under the ice, three feet from your son, and he loved you dearly.

He stayed all evening filling his eyes with you. And he did not tire of it for a single moment. There he was, motionless despite the cold, contemplating what he had never hoped to dream of.

For him, that night, time stood still.

Who were you? And why were you in that place?

He did not know.

But he knew one thing, one thing only, sad and beautiful: your face asleep under the ice would never die.

At first light of day, your son planted a cross in the precise place where he had made your gruesome discovery. And he resumed the path in search of his father.

He could never have forgotten you. Your face haunted him all the way.

He went through the whole Court, and one morning he came to the door of father's dwelling. A servant opened it for him.

He stepped aside with a bow, letting him in. He waited for Kallias in a cozy parlor, comforted by the warmth coming from the fireplace.

When the male entered the room he embraced him.

"I have missed you." Said your mate to your son. He responded with equal sentiment.

One evening he asked Kallias, "What was my mother like?" He stopped breathing for a brief moment. He had never asked anything about you.

"I would never have seen the light if it hadn't been for her."

"What was she like?" He insisted.

"Love is the most difficult art. And writing, dancing, composing, painting, even running a Court are the same thing as loving. Funambulisms. The difficult thing is to advance without falling. I, in the end fell because of my love for her. But art saved me from despair and death. It's a long story, I think it would bore you."

"No." He begged him. "Please tell it to me!"

Kallias took a deep breath. "It goes back to when I was still young, a mere heir, just like you."

Your son pleaded him again to continue, and in the face of such insistence, he plunged into memories.

"It all began by magic. One day near the Solstice, as I was returning from a fight, I fell in love with your mother. She was a very different female from any I had ever known. At that time, Amarantha had just set foot in Prythian. I had participated in a very violent battle that had ended in a brilliant, beautiful and unpredictable victory. So I was returning as a winner. Triumphant but wounded. A soldier had disemboweled a male in front of me, I still had the senses of that scene: the taste of mud and blood everywhere in my mouth, the enemy soldiers rushing at him, that hostile face furrowed with hatred. The male had lunged at me, ready to stab me. Then I had felt something push me away, and then nothing but a bloody body from which the guts hung. But at the time it was an honor, the joys of war. One had to die or come back wounded.

I could never forget the sight of that body slumped on the ground. Then I fainted. They took me for dead. I stayed there all night under the lifeless body. The next morning someone heard my groans. They lifted the body and discovered my horrified face, the face of the heir. They treated me, and for several days I continued to deliriate. After a week, there was still horror in my eyes.

My father-your grandfather-came to me to congratulate me, and I was proud, but with a pride nonetheless clouded by the pain of what I had experienced.

Finally, when I had recovered my strength, I took the road back. I did not want to fight anymore, and not so much because of the wounds inflicted on me - since the beginning of Amarantha's tyranny I had been wounded six times - but because of the sheer disgust I felt towards war. I, the very one, the heir to the Winter Court, who had pledged my allegiance to our armies, realized that I no longer had any desire to kill.

I therefore left the army and set out on foot for home. And it was there, on the way back, that the miracle was accomplished.

Crippled by the cold, at the end of my strength, with the horror of war still in my eyes, alone in the thick of the darkness and tragedy I had just experienced alone in the abyss of winter, alone with the vertigo of loneliness, alone in my silence, where I could have died a hundred times of cold, hunger, fatigue, disappointment and exhaustion, I survived.

I survived because what I saw that day, that thing, that extraordinary thing that came from a distant place, sent by Mother to compensate for the horror of the male slumped on the ground, that sublime and beautiful thing was the most sublime and beautiful image I had ever been allowed to see in my entire life. And that image I could never forget again.

The image was that of a young female balancing on a tightrope, a young female as light as a bird, a funambulist who was performing with the grace of a squirrel above a silvery river. She was very high in the sky. More than walking the tightrope she floated through the air as if by magic. I watched her glide suavely into the blue up there, standing in front of her invisible wire, barbell in her hands, one would have called her an angel.

I slowly approached the river, and the beauty of the young female captivated me. It was the first time I had seen a Fae from another Continent. She seemed to be flying. Intrigued, I advanced further. She was now perfectly above me.

A dense crowd had gathered on the shore to witness the strange apparition. I approached an old man and, still looking at her, asked him, "Who is she?"

The old man, without even looking at me, replied with a tremor in his voice, "She is a funambulist. Or a bird lost in the air."

She was a funambulist, and her life followed a single line. Straight.

She was from another continent. Her name was Y/n. They had nicknamed her Snow, because she had delicate features and ice-colored eyes. And also because when she darted through the air she seemed as light as a snowflake.

This is how she had begun. One day, while still a child, her path had crossed that of a traveling circus. Flabbergasted, she had discovered the possibility of daydreaming. Heedless of the dangers, she had decided to make it her own career. She had started with a tightrope stretched a few inches off the ground. Then, little by little, she had gone higher and higher both in height and in the mastery of her art. And so she had become the first female funambulist in the Winter Court. Up on the tightrope, she had never come down again.

My Y/n had become a funambulist for the sake of balance. She, whose life unfolded like a winding thread, littered with twists and turns that intertwined and dissolved the sinuosities of fate and the insipidness of existence, excelled in the subtle and insidious art of making evolutions on a tightrope.

She never felt more at ease than when she walked the wire a thousand feet above the ground. Straight ahead. Without ever deviating a single millimeter from her course.

It was her destiny.

To advance step by step.

From one end of life to the other.

Her prowess had conquered all the squares of my Court.

At nineteen, my Snow had already traveled more than a hundred kilometers on her tightrope, often risking her life. She had stretched her tightrope between the two towers of my palace and had balanced several hours above the rope, like an Esmeralda made of wind, snow, and silence.

Then she had repeated her feats in every building I owned, each time defying the laws of balance.

She was no mere funambulist. She proceeded through the air as if by magic.

Looking at her so far up there, her body standing upright in the sky like a white flame and her hair caressed by the wind, one would have called her the snow goddess. For in reality the hardest thing for her was not keeping her balance, or even mastering fear, much less walking that endless tightrope, on that thread of music interspersed with dazzling vertigo. The hardest thing, when she advanced into the light of the world, was not to turn into a snowflake.

By now they were claiming her from every corner of the Court of Winter. So she went and crossed with her rope into the Summer Court. Then, almost without realizing it, she made it all the way to the Court of Dawn, where I traveled only to be enraptured watching her. Never before had a performer from one Court performed in another, not in such period.

And I looked at her and already loved her. In my eyes, your mother seemed at once poetry, painting, calligraphy, dance and music. She was Snow and represented all the beauty of art.

When the beautiful stranger had finished the number on the tightrope and had returned to earth, I could not restrain my desire to approach her. I stepped forward and, in doing so, discovered the fineness of her features, the design of her mouth, the line of her eyebrows, and knew instantly that never again would I forget that face. I looked into her eyes, and in turn Snow squared me. There was no need for words. She smiled at me, and in that smile I lost my soul.

I knelt down, and said, "You are what I have been looking for. You are my mate."

Snow, on the other hand, was not looking for anyone. But my gesture seemed to her of such beauty that she delighted in it. And she married me.

The first years were happy. A happy event came to strengthen our bond. You.

You possess your mother's diaphanous beauty and my white hair. Our life was one of peace and silence. Gradually Snow settled more and more into my Court. Sometimes she felt homesick for her land, but she never complained about it.

What she missed most of all was her craft as a funambulist.

One night she dreamed of flying.

The next day, waking up, she thought about the dream again. Then she thought no more about it. The Solstice came, then passed. You grew in the ecstasy of light. Snow was happy. In one hand she held my love and in the other her own heart, which she offered to you. And that fragile barbell served to keep her balanced on the thread of happiness.

But one day the balance of that balance wheel became so fragile that it broke. One day the affection lavished on her by her loved ones was no longer enough to make her happy. She cruelly missed the life in the air. She thirsted again for vertigo, for thrills, for conquest. She thought only of becoming a funambulist again.

She asked permission to arrange one last performance. She wanted to stretch a rope from one mountain to another in the heart of our mountains.

Surely I estimated that desire insane, deeming the idea of endangering his life senseless, but, as a true mate, I bowed and agreed.

I had two of the best ropes come from the Autumn Court: one was short and thin, the other much thicker and five hundred yards long. Then I sent two servants to fasten the longer cable between the two highest peaks of the mountains.

Y/n slipped the barbell out of its case, put on her ballerina shoes, and, stretching the smaller cable in the garden, practiced for hours over tiny mountains of snow and a miniature ocean on which chunks of ice floated.

I did not tire of watching her. My mate was an unrivaled funambulist.

On that wire she was so happy, so beautiful, so ethereal, that every day I thanked Mother for giving her to me. Her hair was fluttering. She had a clear gaze. And she was walking on air.

The performance was set for the first days of the New Year. A crowd gathered from all over Prythian to witness your mother's feats.

When Snow placed her feet on the cable, the crowd rumbled. Up there, so high it made one dizzy just looking at her, she looked like a tiny white dot in space, a snowflake in the immensity of the sky. Armed with her barbell, for more than an hour and a half Snow performed high above the ground, slowly approaching the opposite side of the mountain. Below, I held my breath. One false step and it was certain death.

But she, perfectly mastering her art, advanced inexorably. Step by step. Blow after blow. Silence after silence. From vertigo to vertigo. She never stumbled.

It was the thread, which broke. Surely badly secured, the cable broke loose from the rock and plunged my mate and barbell into a fall of almost a thousand feet.

Those who saw her disappear there, in the heart of our mountains, took her for a bird falling from the sky.

Her body, surely fallen into a crevasse, was never found again. Snow had become snow and slept in the bed of her whiteness.

I never recovered from the loss of my wife. My two clumsy servants were dismissed without any other form of revenge on my part. A few days later it turned out that they had killed themselves by throwing themselves off a cliff. I felt neither joy nor sorrow.

I saw only one thing: my pain. I knew only one thing: that never again would I find the woman I had loved. Never again would I see Snow again. Never again would I see beauty again. Back I was in my home, now devoid of any joy, I threw off the robes of the High Lord. I promised myself that I would devote myself to your education and art. To absolute art.

So it was that I became, for love of a woman, a poet, musician, calligrapher, dancer. And painter. Because painting was clearly the most faithful link between the lost face and absolute art, the surest means of finding Snow again. And so in that art I excelled.

I got the equipment from a paint merchant - a wooden easel, silk brushes, a palette, an endless amount of colors -, had a small hut built in the garden and locked myself in it. I spent long years there, painting my mate whom I would never see again except in dreams.

However, I was never satisfied with one's work.

Her paintings, though splendid, seemed to me too colorful, too little resemblance. To reproduce Snow accurately I would have to make a completely white, virgin, purified painting. How to paint whiteness? My Y/n portraits were all beautiful, but there were none that resembled Snow.

I kept perfecting my art, day after day, night after night, never getting tired. Then I began to feel old. You, already united in a bond and grown up, went to live far away.

I found myself alone in front of the canvas. I would wear out my eyesight by dint of contemplating the image of my beautiful disappearance.

And one day, because of that incessant work, I became almost blind. And it was that very day, from the abyss of my grief, I painted the whitest and most beautiful of all her portraits.

There. Here the story ends. I never forgot your mother, just as I never ceased to revere and dipimg her. Even when I sank into myself. Especially when I sunk into myself. From the deepest blackness, I painted whiteness, discovered purity. Then I discovered that true light and true colors are always intrisically linked to the beauty of the soul.

Starting from the face of my beloved, I cultivated absolute art. Starting from the total absence of light I took hold of it and its nuances."

Kallias fell silent. Your son was seized with dizziness. He looked at his father and said, "I know where my mother is. I met her on my way here. She is dead, but it is as if she is still alive. She lives in a glass coffin. She is so beautiful that I stayed a whole night contemplating her." As he spoke he had a look lost in the void, his eyes still veiled by the breath of the dream. The story had been long and throbbing. Returning to the real world was difficult.

Your beloved merely smiled at the young man and nodded his approval. But it was clear he did not believe him. "How do you know? No one knows where she is. You don't even know what your mother's face looks like."

"The mountain digested her and returned her body. She is there, under the ice, a meter from the surface. She is there, in her glass coffin, untouched, as beautiful as when you met her. I swear I know where she is. I saw her by accident, coming here. Her face impressed me so much that I stayed beside her all night. I planted a cross at the site of her ice tomb. If you wish, I can lead you to her."

Kallias realized that he was speaking the truth, and he could not hold back a tear.

"I knew that one day she would send me a messenger. But I did not know that this messenger would come so late in my life. And what's more, my son." Then he turned to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "And to say that since she died every day I have tried to find her again in painting, in music, in poetry, the snow beauty of her face. And to say that now her face is within my sight. And to say that I will not be able to see her."

The next day your son asked your mate, "Have you thought about my proposal? When do you wish me to take you before my mother's grave?"

Kallias sighed, then replied in a sad voice, "My son. This trip would be useless. I know you speak the truth, but what good would it do for an old man like me, now almost blind, to find the grave of a dead woman? Where she is, my bride is at peace. May her isolation be respected for eternity." Then he took his leave and disappeared into his room.

A month passed. Your son dared not speak of you in the presence of your husband. Besides, Kallias himself seemed to avoid the subject.

Every day, his father would simply say hello before breakfast. Then he would remain invisible for the rest of the day, and during dinner he would remain silent.

But then, one morning, standing on the bank of a river, your mate said to him, "Tomorrow we're going to find Snow."

They left at dawn. Your son walked ahead, and Kallias followed him, orienting himself with the sound of his footsteps.

Whenever the young male offered his hand to help him over some steeper or treacherous passage, your beloved refused it and punctually overcame the obstacle without need of help.

At night they slept in villages on mats spread out on the ground. When, upon entering a village, Kallias introduced himself and announced his presence, the doors opened in front of him as if by magic. Your son was amazed ti how deeply everyone seemed to respect and admire his father. And he understood how fortunate he was to still have him beside him.

Not everyone gets to meet divinities while still alive.

The journey was long, unceasingly white. White as the silence that accompanied them. White as the snow that covered the valleys.

Finally, one morning, the first mountain peaks appeared. Their road began to climb toward the sky and its purity.

They were the hardest hours.

His father began to show signs of fatigue. But he pretended not to, since they were no longer far behind. The journey was coming to an end.

When he saw the cross, your son trembled with emotion.

"Father!" He shouted. "I found it!" He rushed under the rock, there where, on a stormy night, he had discovered the grave of you, his mother, and had a cry of surprise.

"What is it?" Kallias asked impaneled. "Has snow disappeared forever in the heart of the mountain? Has there been an avalanche?"

"No." Said your son. "Far from it. It is as if the Mother has understood our appeal and foreseen our coming. Y/n is there. But her body is even closer than last time. She is barely two or three centimeters from the veil of ice. I can almost touch her."

You were there. You, a creature so beautiful, so bare, as fragile as a dream. You were dead, yet you seemed alive. You were resting under the ice. And soon you would emerge from your grave. Your body so delicate and your skin so diaphanous made you look even more fragile.

Your son threw himself on all fours and scratched the ice with his fingernails. Finally your face appeared. He took your husband's hand and placed it on your face.

"Do you feel her face? Her skin?" Your beloved's hand caressed your cheek. He had become completely blind. But he did not need his eyes to recognize the lines of your face. You were so well preserved that the simple pressure of his palm on your eyelids was enough for him: "It's really her. It's my Snow. You did not lie to me." He fell to his knees before you and wept his hot tears on your icy face, having found again his mate.

Kallias never descended from the mountain. He lay down on the ice, next to you, his greatest love, and closed his eyes.

Your son tried to dissuade him by telling him that to stay there was madness, but his father replied in a calm voice, "Leave me alone. I have found my place. For eternity."

Then he fell asleep beside your intact body. He died letting himself be overcome by the whiteness of the world. He was happy. At the height of your heart.

You loved each other

Suspended on a thread

Of snow.

[dimonds456]

animatic i'll never finish

Book of Bill spoilerssss, cw physical/psychological torture

I also put it below the cut in case you can't/don't wanna click the link(s)

(also also if you wanna do something with this just gimme a tag, I wanna see fgshdj)

[Opening]

Credits. We see Ford alone in his house; in his study; walking down the hall; approaching the front door with a crossbow.

Don't mind the noise outside the door It's just a phantom, nothing more

Ford ducks his head out of the house, looking around for something he thinks he heard.

No need to give yourself a scare When you glance and no one's there

Once he's confirmed nothing's there, he shuts the door and sits up against it, breathing weirdly. Then, we see a Bill-shaped shadow moving around the room with him, though he doesn't notice.

I don't wanna have to hurt you

Ford takes a breath, then stands back up

It's not your fault, I felt his rage Just a child about your age

Flash back to the science experiment gone wrong, except it's wrong. Stan is actively ripping into the machine. The camera pans out to show it was Bill telling him this; the visions were in his eye the whole time.

But something drives me to this place I can see him in your face

Ford looks doubtful. He knows that's not how it happened, but instead of confronting the realization he was wrong about Stan, he chooses to keep it buried. He keeps going down the hall, towards the living room.

You'll never know the hell I've seen

He collapses on the chair, exhausted. His eyes slip close... then snap back open again. Uh oh.

Don't fear what's coming We can't fight off the urge inside

Bill, possessing Ford, basically prances through the house. He heads over to the secret door and punches in the code

It's dark and you're afraid of The devils that come out at night

He goes down the elevator, making it to the portal room. It looms ominously over him.

Let's make this easy

He pulls up all three journals and aligns them

Soon you'll haunt these beasts you hated

Bill is looking at Ford's six-fingered hand (the implication being he's talking about the people who made fun of Ford before)

No need for sleep tonight Sweet dreams are overrated

Bill pulls the lever, but the portal flickers uncertainly. He shakes his head, then heads back to the desk. He grabs sticky notes and a pen.

[Instrumental]

Ford wakes up in bed, finding a sticky note stuck to his face from Bill. He's confused, reaching up to grab it, and we see that his knuckles are bruised. Concerned, he gets up and heads to the kitchen. He makes himself a mug of coffee, downing it pretty fast, then glances back at his hand. It fades to a shot of the hand being bandaged up. Ford slips one of Fidd's gloves over it, then frowns, a mix of concerned and scared.

I'm just a whisper in the void No one's there, you're paranoid

At the diner, Ford is trying to order something, but he's clearly anxious. His foot is bouncing, and he keeps glancing at all the people around him warily.

I'm just a trick of your own mind

The people all become shadowy. They turn to look at Ford, yellow, slitted eyes gazing at him unblinkingly.

Blink your eyes once and you'll find I'm just a ghost inside your head

Ford slams his eyes shut. When he opens them, everyone is looking at him, but in concern now. it'd been a hallucination from Bill. Ford gets up as the waiter comes over with his order and guns it out of there.

Don't fear your fate that soon arrives

Ford's sitting on the floor of his study, hands on his head. He's breathing heavy.

It's a deadly lullaby

He looks up to see dozens of Bills watching him- drawings and other decor HE put there.

You'll be with us very soon Another spirit in the room

The bathroom. He's looking at himself in the mirror, noting the deep eyebags under his eyes. One could say he looks dead.

Take your place among the lost

He's alone. He's all alone and there is a demon in his head who wants him to end the world.

Don't fear what's coming

Bill again. He's possessing a bunch of zombies this time

We can't fight off the urge inside

Ford snipes him hell yeah

It's dark and you're afraid of

Ford gasps awake, finding ANOTHER sticky note.

The devils that come out at night

He slaps it on the bedside table next to a BUNCH MORE.

Let's make this easy

Ford pushes furniture in front of the secret door, even though he knows that won't do shit. it makes him feel like he's doing SOMETHING

Soon you'll haunt these beasts you hated

He downs an entire pot of coffee someone help this man

No need for sleep tonight

His heat has turned off. He's huddled in the living room, where puffs of air appear when he breathes- harder now.

Sweet dreams are overrated

He's fighting sleep so fucking hard right now

[Instrumental]

We see a montage, but centered around Ford as the camera spins around him. He's looking up, watching his world spin, then is falling. He catches himself on the kitchen table, downing more coffee. He stumbles back to his feet, before Bill circled around him. Sticky notes, sticky notes, sticky notes. There's hammers, the Memory Gun, the crossbow, various other weapons (all pointed at Ford), before the camera spins just right to point at Ford head-on again. Now, he's holding a VHS. He bends towards the camera and slips it into a VCR

You can't wake From this dream

Bill is taunting him. Ford grabs the edges of the TV in panicked anger.

No one will hear you screaming

Ford throws the VHS into a fire.

So hold on For the ride

Bill takes over forcefully. The world goes black around the two of them.

I'll take you with me tonight

PAIN. Pain, pain, pain. Ford falls.

This nightmare This prison

Bill floats in front of him, almost gloating, but moreso just upset

Inside the suits we live in

He grabs Ford's shirt collar and yanks him closer

Don't fear me Together

Bill suddenly lets go. He drifts backwards, throwing his hands out.

We'll have sweet dreams forever

Close-up on his eye. He looks excited to the point of being unhinged.

[Instrumental]

Ford sits bolt upright, hands immediately going up to his eyes. They're still there. He stiffens, sorta going numb. After a moment, he drags himself to his feet. He heads down to the basement, grabbing the journals and a postcard. He scribbles something down, then heads out. He drops the postcard in the mailbox, then puts Journal 3 in the ground.

Don't fear what's coming We can't fight off the urge inside

Bill in possession of Ford. He opens the front door and steps out into the snow

It's dark and you're afraid of The devils that come out at night

Ford wakes up, but he's on the roof of his house. He panics, falling to his knees to prevent himself from sliding off. He's breathing heavy, and finds himself pulling another sticky note from his coat pocket

Let's make this easy Soon you'll haunt these beasts you hated

Bill is holding a hammer. He positions a nail right above Ford's hand. He raises the hammer, then brings it down.

No need for sleep tonight Sweet dreams are overrated

Ford is holding his hand close, bandaged as best as he could, and he's shaking BAD. But, he's also tossing around a bunch of Bill-related shit. The bags under his eyes are designer.

Don't fear what's coming We can't fight off the urge inside

Ford with the crossbow. There's been a knock on the door. He looks wild and unkept. He grabs the handle and opens the door.

It's dark and you're afraid of The devils that come out at night

It's just Stan dw. Ford yanks him inside and checks his eyes.

Let's make this easy Soon you'll haunt these beasts you hated

They head downstairs to the portal room.

No need for sleep tonight Sweet dreams are overrated

Ford shoves Journal 1 in Stan's hands, and Stan gets upset. We know where it goes from here.

[Instrumental]

The fight starts, though it's portrayed in still images. Around them is the interesting part. We see Ford's initial deal with Bill, the good times, the laughs, the vulnerability, before it turns into the horror we know it as today.

(Sweet dreams are overrated)

Notes. More things from this animatic. Journal pages. TRUST NO ONE. It devolves into paranoid screaming, basically.

[Music box]

Stan shoves Ford into the portal. It's caught in slo-mo, with Ford assuming he's going to die here. After all, *Bill's* on the other side. This lasts about halfway through, before it snaps back to normal speed. Ford's gone. Stan can only look up at it, before reality snaps back. He runs to the lever, but he can't pull it. Ford's gone.

[arabian-bloodstream]

The Object of Your Ire, Take 2

OK, so I've been reading posts on HOTD this season but been quiet, but after this last episode, I had to come out of hiding, because, yeah, I just can't. I called this after season 1, and I think I'm pretty sure where we're headed now. I genuinely do not believe that Daemon is being written out of character, or that this is coming out of nowhere, or that this makes no sense, or that Daemyra are being destroyed. Truly, just be patient. I think we're gonna be good.

I wrote this on October 21, 2022: The Object of Your Ire

And, yeah, I was almost 99% right there, so I've got a pretty good read on the thought process they got going. So, here's my take.

First, let's assess the situation.

Viserys dies. The throne is usurped. Daemon wants to go to war. He has no problem crowning her because they are both fire and blood. However, like Viserys, Rhaenyra cautions temperance. Because of this, Daemon fears she is weak like his brother. Luke is killed and Rhaenyra is enraged, and Daemon thinks now she will be on the same page as him. They will go to war and wipe out the traitors. They will indeed burn together. Instead, due to the Jaehaerys "mistake," Rhaenyra is once more urging caution, and Daemon's not here for that. Rhaenyra finally calls him out on the fact that Viserys didn't trust him, and now she knows that she can't either, not in this very volatile climate.

Daemon is proud and stubborn, and just as he didn't believe that Viserys didn't trust him but it was rather a case of jealousy and his own ego at play cannot see that it truly was the fact that his own intemperate actions pushed Viserys, and now Rhaenyra to this point. So he storms off. Now, in Harrenhal, these visions he is having are bringing home his guilt, parallels to moments in his life with Rhaenyra that pertain to her as heir and him not.

1) The camera work when he "killed" young!Rhaenyra was identical to when Viserys had him on the floor in S1EP4 and Viserys told him he didn't want Rhaenyra he wanted the crown 2) Rhaenyra on the Iron Throne as he walked towards her paralleled when we first saw him and Rhaenyra in the first episode but it was Daemon on the throne 3) Young!Rhaenyra was wearing the same dress that Rhaenyra was wearing when she mentioned Aegon's prophecy to her, the same when he choked her

(Also, someone pointed out that in the actual scene in the 1st episode, Daemon and Rhaenyra spoke Valyrian to each other. In this haunting vision, only young!Rhaenyra is doing so. Daemon is speaking the Common Tongue. He does not want to engage in their "secret language" in this version of young!Rhaenyra because she is not the real Rhaenyra and he knows that.)

So, why? Why is he having these visions? And why did he have the vision of having sex with his mother? Because Daemon has deep-seated issues of guilt and ego, and mommy and daddy-issues. Because Daemon feels like he should have been the one on the throne. That HE was better than Viserys. That HE would have been a better king than Viserys. That he would have been the favored son. But remember… these aren't JUST Daemon's visions, he's also almost assuredly being slipped something from Alys Rivers to hallucinate things. So, there is that. Basically, we're having a deep character dive into Daemon to deal with his guilt over some of the fucked-up things he's done, his issues that are even too much for him, and Alys's woowooaaahh! is pushing that along its way.

Oh, and BTW, that woman in Daemon's hallucination wasn't ACTUALLY Alyssa Targaryen. So, people saying, oh noes, they've ruined Alyssa Targaryen, no, no, they have not. We haven't met the real Alyssa Targaryen. That was some fucked-up concoction of Daemon's deranged psyche, not the real woman. Not by a long shot. Daemon desperately misses his wife, but he messed that up, and can't admit that he messed up. He's not there yet. He can't admit that. He also can't admit that he would make a lousy king. Last we heard him say, he's still saying that he should be king, and Rhaenyra his queen, by his side. Ah, ah, ah, ah, but I think the reason for this arc is to deal with that once and for all….

And there's good news on that front.

I know I'm kinda all over the place here, and I apologize, but there's a crap-ton to unravel. Look, Daemon is a fucking mess. But the first two episodes set this up perfectly to get us where we are and lead us, I believe, to where I think we're going. I could be wrong, absolutely, but I really did nail the whole Daemon/Viserys/Rhaenyra lack of trust/heir messed up in the head thing. I really did. So, I'm kinda trusting my gut here.

So, first couple of episodes, Daemon is itching to do things his way. He can't as he's waiting for the queen's go-ahead, but she's off looking for proof of Luke's death. She finally comes back and gives him that go-ahead. YAY! He thinks, but then he makes a "mistake," and she tears into him, telling him some very hard truths that he is just not willing to hear. So he storms off on his dragon. That's our set-up.

Then the next three episodes have been at first, he's working on getting the army for her, but then it starts to become about well, she's not doing this how I would, and I would be better so I should be the king and she can be my queen, so it should be my army, yeah, yeah, that's the ticket. Except it hasn't been as black and white as that because:

He's having all of these visions that are wrecking him, reminding him of how he was not the chosen heir at one point, it was Rhaenyra. (Natch, just like in the real world, Aegon/Alicent were getting that same dose of reality.)

He's stomping all over the Riverlands trying to force people to do his bidding as he would if he were king. First he tells the young Tully heir to kill his grandfather (nope, won't do, the kid loves his grandsire), then he threatens to kill the Brackens (or Blackwoods, I forget which, LOL) with dragonfire (nope, they'd rather die), then he's all do war crimes, but not in my name (they do the war crimes, under the Targ flag). In other words, Daemon does everything wrong. He kinda shows that Viserys was right.

We have that lovely final shot of him, head bent as he leans against the fireplace that flows directly into from the opposite side --> Rhaenyra leaning against the fireplace, head bent. SOULMATES!

Then she has her little talk with Lord Alfred, sending him to Harrenhal to find out what are Daemon's intentions. And there are three very interesting things of note in this scene. 1) That she knows Daemon well enough to know that he might be considering raising a host in his name. Yeah, it's awful of Daemon to even be considering that, but the fact that Rhaenyra knows him THAT WELL, yeah, you go, Rhae-rhae!, 2) Lord Alfred immediately was all like: "His intentions? But, but, but… Prince Daemon would never!" Loved that. Because you know it did not come from a place of Daemon Targaryen is just known for being SUCH a loyal guy, but rather because they know he loves his wife. Uh huh! And 3) Rhaenyra's message: That she wants to finish their conversation. Love, love, love that. Girl is like, babe, we gonna hash this out!

Furthermore, we also had Jace (sweet, beautiful, perfect Jace, Iluvusomuch!) having Daemon's back when talking to the Freys, but straight up just expecting Daemon to be there for Rhaenyra because that's just what's been up for so long, and then he cut himself off because of their, erm, "marital spat, but still, yeah, he just, that's his expectation about Daemon when it comes to Rhaenyra, and that just made my heart go SQUEE!

On another Jace note with regards to Daemon and the Riverlands, so ya got Daemon there failing spectacularly in his attempt to gain a host, while Jace--using tactics learned from his mother's school of politicking--got a big swath of Riverlands mileage they can use. So, Daemon's whole 'your way sucks, my way is better' isn't quite working which brings me back to eps 1-2 set-up, and what eps 3-5 have been doing for us.

Rhaenyra asked Daemon "Do you accept me as your queen and ruler?" We didn't get an answer. I believe--and I totes, totes could be wrong, but I believe that we are heading toward the moment when Daemon can answer Rhaenyra because he has exorcised enough of his demons that he can finally say yes. He can say yes because he realizes that his way isn't the way. That Viserys didn't trust him because of Daemon's actions, not because of jealousy on his brother's part. And that Rhaenyra following suit wasn't her lack of faith, but Daemon's lack of control. And that is his arc, gaining that realization, and that control, restoring her faith in him.

I think.

[silent-browser]

Fuck it. Insane yandere with a noise sensitive darling.

The very first time he ever saw you scared was because of a particularly aggressive phone conversation he was having back when he still considered himself stable. It was also the first time he ever felt his psyche crack.

It was supposed to be date night. Going to pick out a some books in the library and then off to a small vietnamese place near by that had amazing pho. A perfect and quiet night out. A night was was interrupted and nearly ruined before it even got started.

Work. Always work. A crappy office with even crappier management. They tried to call him in.

You can cover so-and-so's shift can't you? You will get recommended for that higher position we were talking about last time if you do.

Rudeness at its finest. He explained politely that he had a prior commitment and that he can't come in.

If it's a partner I'm sure they wouldn't mind. After all it's more money in your bank account and you can just make it up to them later.

He still can't come in. He just wants to spend a relaxing night with his-

If you can't commit yourself fully to this company I'm afraid that we may just have to write you up for insubordination. Now you should really consider what's more important. Your lively hood or one insignificant person.

He felt like an explosion went off in his brain. He roared down the receiver of the phone. How dare they threaten his job. His income. His darling. Disgusting, awful things were said that night, including threats to sue and rip that whole company to shreds. That eventful phone call ended when he threw his phone at the opposite end of the couch he was sitting on.

With frustration and rage still swimming in his mind he started ranting. Growling and pacing his living room like a caged predator when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He had whipped around and was ready to rip into whomever touched him until he realized who was standing there as well as the expression on their face.

His partner. His lovely partner was standing there. Shaken. Scared. He didn't mean to make you scared. He's so sorry. Please let him hug you. You don't like certain loud noises? He's even more sorry. He wishes he knew sooner. Reassureances that an outburst like that won't happen infront of you again.

The second time he saw that frightened look on your precious face was when he went on trial for murdering three entire departments from his office.

He saw you in the audience of that trial. He wanted to catch your eye. Hopeing to get across the message that he would be home soon. Instead he saw raw fear and disbelief. And suddenly the extra time off he had gained through the murdering of all those people didn't feel like an accomplishment. It felt like shame.

The crying mothers and screaming loved ones never moved him. The guilty charge didn't get phase him. Life in prison even seemed preferable at the time. Anything to get him to stop looking at and remembering your terrified face.

The third and hopefully final time he saw that look, the one that haunted his nightmares and delusions now, was when he came back.

Prison really only did one good thing for him. Gave him time to work out. He had never been stronger or in better shape. Hopefully it was a shape you were attracted to, was a common thought for him during his time in prison. In every other aspect it only caused him to get worse. Nightmares of you running away from him, hallucinations of your voice telling him that you didn't love him anymore but worst of them all were the visions of your body, broken and bruised, usually accompanied by more auditory hallucinations of you telling him that this was all his fault. He was tortured by his own mind daily. So when he finally got out he made it his new life's mission to take care of his darling. Whatever the cost.

He had to be quiet when breaking into your new house. Loud noises scare darling. If I scare darling I'm an awful and unworthy boyfriend. Don't scare them don't scare them don't scare them.

He had to be careful when drugging you. Darling hates needles... But this is necessary! But darling hates needles... Please don't hate me...

He had to be confident leaving your house. Nothing to see here. Just a man with THE MOST WONDERFUL AND AMAZING HUMAN BEING IN HIS ARMS, and wrapped in a carpet. I hope they can breathe in there... Have I suffocated them!? Have I just killed my darling!?!

He had to rush to the car and speed off.

He keeps you in a cabin now. Deep in a forest. No news from the modern world reaches here. None of the reports of an escaped convict from a mental asylum (but that was allowed right? He escaped for true love after all.). No reports about his old boss being found in his home, gutted and torn apart with his heart removed (that heart would make a fantastic anniversary present! A show of his devotion and ability). No reports about the expartner of the infamous workplace ripper suddenly disappearing the same night as the asylum escape. (Better this way in his opinion. Those other FAKES didn't really care about you. They were only reporting it because the story would bring in some money. Hmm... Maybe he should visit that news station soon... Teach them the error of their ways...)

[anonmothgod]

Fic Explanation

I just realized I was posting stuff about my fic without really explaining it, so take this as a quick rundown of what it's about

Omen of a Half-Blind Raven is where Zane is housesitting the entire block for 2 months and at the very start of it, MCD Laurance and MCD Travis are now there and in his house. He now has to get them "home" (or just away) before one of them decides to snap his neck.

In the fic, since the narration is limited to Zane's POV (third person limited) he refers to them as "Other Laurance/ Other Travis" to make that mental dissconection between the two. He's also an unreliable narrator due to having "visions" and general paranoia clouding his mind.

(More serious note; I am writing the very real effects of suffering from audio/visual hallucinations and general paranoia and these come from my personal experiecence. I won't get into much detail but stress and enviroment contribute a HUGE factor on what can trigger an episode and depending on the situation, full on psychosis.

Another thing is that Zane is a prophet in the sense that yes, a supernatural entity is fucking with his head BADLY. This doesn't mean that all of his psychological issues are caused from this enity or anything supernatural like possesion or haunting; I am AVOIDING that. That's a really bad movie and show trope and I am not going to fuel that fire. Instead, I am going to carefully have both elements there. Zane is not the only person harrased by supernatural entities here, but it is meant to contexualize how in modern time it's treated rather then back in MCD time.

Regardless of supernatural fuckery or not, Zane still has issues with hallucinations not tied to anything and paranoia. This is just a fact for him as a character and is not treated as a bad trait nor a good one; it is a neutral trait that he just has. This will be adressed in the fic, I promise.)

Timeline wise, both Others are from the tail-end of Season 3 MCD, assuming mostly on what is happening, and the near nuclear fallout the war has had on the main cast. They were mid-battle before they were just thrown right into the future, 1000 years later. In Mystreet, you're firmly looking in Season 1 since the cast had just graduated college.

That's the most basic rundown that I have without going into the chapters themselves. If you have any questions please ask away!

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hello! How great was S2E1?!

I am lying awake (amusingly) pondering this so flight I’d ask you as I’m sure you know & could put my undresming mind to rest & your username is so fitting for my question too… which is…

Do vampires dream?

I found all the talk of Claudia dreaming or not very interesting, because in the books, vampires do not dream, do they? Or have I got it wrong?

Their sleep is the sleep of The Dead. See it as horrifying as Louis describes or as the tabula rasa, infant’s sleep; new start every night Armand describes. Either way, there are no dreams in their death-sleep, no?

And I wonder if that’s part of why they are frequently haunted by hallucinatory visions & struggle so deeply with existential traumas in waking hours… their subconscious doesn’t get the chance to dream-out any of the mess that is existence when they sleep & thus their psychological battles can only be wrangled while awake…?

So, is this intentional? Or, do show-vampires dream? Or do I have it wrong?

Vampires (in the VC) do dream.

From The Tale of the Body Thief:

But it's important that I tell you about the dreams I'd been having before that time, for they are very much part of the tale too. I'm talking now about dreams of a child vampire with a woman's mind and an angel's face, and a dream of my mortal friend David Talbot. But there were dreams also of my mortal boyhood in France- of winter snows, my father's bleak and ruined castle in the Auvergne, and the time I went out to hunt a pack of wolves that were preying upon our poor village. Dreams can be as real as events. Or so it seemed to me afterwards.

Sometimes they even catch the transmissions of other vampires in their dreams, too, as happening in QotD.

I think them setting the dreaming up already pays both into the QotD and Amel arc later, where dreams do carry weight. And information, so it makes sense to make a point about them already (in a truly heartwrenching way, damn).

Wrt hallucinations or visions - I think it is important to remember that their minds have more... reception.

Like, the mind and spell gifts (as well as the other gifts too of course) have to originate somewhere, right, and their physical links to the vampiric body.

And so for me it is only logical - in universe - that they would "catch" more of the other frequencies, to put it that way. Hope that makes sense?^^