#are you keeping watch in the night or are you drawn to them so strongly that you cant leave despite knowing what you may bring

[luxpenumbra]

get to know you gameeee tag 9 ppl + answer qs

thank u @hawkeyequeerce this has been incubating in my notes app so she is quite long

last song listened to: at the time I started writing this: sincerity is scary by the 1975 (I'd been listening to albums all the way thru today, so I started w I like when you sleep and I was half thru brief inquiry)

right now: run to the water by +live+ off of the distance to here

currently reading: i'm wrapping up a reread of the lodestar of ys by amy rae durreson, it's a pretty short read and one of my recent finds! I'm super in love with how she describes the world and builds atmosphere. she makes me want to tear pieces off of a loaf of bread and be able to eat cheese and be somewhere & sometime where I can hear birds + feel a spring thaw, and somehow she manages to do this during a wartime story and I would not have it any other way.

I'm thinking about jumping back into murderbot diaries after this and/or tamora pierce's beka cooper trilogy. it's reread season here babyyy

currently watching: actively? nothing. attention span? never heard of her. 

passively (ie i'll get back to them soon?eventually): x-files, teen wolf, pjo show, httyd race to the edge (doing it for my siblings in penance for every time I swear in front of them because if I don't want to hear babies say fuck I have to watch my language in return which is fair), dr who, winx club. I wanna watch doctor slump bc it has park shin hye AND park hyung sik and they were academic rivals (oh my god they were academic rivals) but I haven't gotten to it yet

currently obsessed with: hibike euphonium (getting a new season!! kyoani it's been 7 years and i'm still ur bitch), these babes [see stentor below thx journeytothemicrocosmos], old enamelled jewelry, the part in this tornado loves you where neko case says "my love / i'm an owl on the sill in the evening / but morning finds you / still warm and breathing"

tagging not quite 9 ppl @squimbz @the-dot @gaylord-nelson @emilyofmindelan some of whom I know but that's ok! + anyone else who wants to

[bbyquokka]

fizzy pop

– yn has a habit of bottling up their emotions, chan comforts them & explains the importance of communicating about feelings/emotions.

pairing | bang chan x gender neutral reader

genre | angst w comfort – 18+ is strongly advised!

cw | established relationship, mental health (low moods, low/no motivation, lose of interest in hobbies/things), pet names.

words | 2k ~ ( 2,042 )

notes | idk why but i've been putting off on posting this for months, maybe bc im nervous 🤔 don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — wips list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

it's just another day. another day of just being there. another day of feeling like you have no purpose in life except to please others. another day of wondering “what is the purpose of me being here?” you fake smiles, say you're "ok" because saying how you actually feel is exhausting.

aside from it feeling exhausting, you also don't want to draw attention to yourself and when you do speak, you feel stupid for doing so, so you keep it all in, bottle it up until it's too much for you to handle. some days you wonder why you even bother to get out off bed.

is it because of the birds you hear outside? the sun's heat that you want to feel on your skin? could it be the laughter and chitter chatter of others? or maybe you want to hear the rain on the leaves–who knows. all you know is that everyday is the same and it's tiring.

the days merge into one. what day is it even? monday? tuesday? oh wait, it's saturday morning. time doesn't exist anymore. in your mind you see no point in getting up out of bed because again, what's the point? 

so why is it that your boyfriend is gently shaking you, asking, no, begging you to get up.

“darlin'. please get up.” chan whispers as he gently shakes you by the shoulders. you sigh deeply, a tired sigh that causes chan to swallow and his suspicions to come to light.

you pull the duvet over your head, body curled in a small and fragile ball. the curtains are still drawn providing darkness despite the morning rays that wish to peak inside. 

chan has been up since the crack of dawn. he has showered, made breakfast and managed to get dressed. he gave you some extra time to sleep in because he knows you're not a morning person but when the number nine on his watch turned to twelve and you're still not up and out, does he grow concerned.

he's had his suspicions for a while. he's noticed how defeated you sound. how there is little to no energy in the words you speak. he's tried everything to cheer you up, thinking, hoping you were just having an off day. but that off day turned into an off week which slowly, but surely, turned into an off month.

you lost your passion for being creative, lost the will to make anything which you despise. being creative is one of the many pleasures you have in life, to be able to make something and share your creations with others is exhilarating but when you feel like this, your mood turns bitter and cold towards everything you do which results in you resenting everything you create.

you lost the energy to speak to people. to pick up the phone and just talk. you're not deliberately ignoring nor trying to be difficult but keeping conversations flowing is just too hard right now and when you think they're giving you the same energy back do you feel so guilty. 

what have i done to deserve this? why am i forced to feel like this. you find yourself questioning everything late at night. your head loud as soon as it hits the pillow and no amount of music you blast down your ears can silence those thoughts.

everything is so exhausting. everything is the same. you just want to disappear whether that be for a few days or forever, you're not quite sure, but certain people around you wont allow that to happen. they are keeping you afloat, head above water. you desperately and silently wish they never let you go, no matter how hard you fight and push them away.

“baby, please.” chan's words dripped with desperation. his knees on the bed behind you as he kneels causing the mattress to dip. his hands on your shoulders gently as his eyes bore into the duvet, burning holes into it until he is burning holes into you. tears threaten to spill down his soft cheeks as he becomes increasingly worried for you.

“chan..“ you whisper, your words shaking. “please.. leave me alone.” 

he swallows. those three last words he hates to hear. now he is left in a difficult position. should he do as you say and leave you? leave you to fester and rot in your own thoughts and feelings. watch you melt into the mattress and become nothing but a lifeless shell. or should he force himself, force you to acknowledge him. show you, tell you that's it's going to be ok–even if you don't believe him in the beginning.

but this is chan and you know more than anyone how stubborn chan can be.

“lets go take a shower yn, together! and maybe we can go out and get lunch at that café you love so much?”

silence. 

“or how about we go to that art shop! pick up those water colours you've been eyeing up for months?”

silence.

“ok well, what about some new cloth–”

“chan please!” you snap, causing him to jump. “what part of leave me alone don't you understand?!”

you don't mean to sound harsh and you hope chan doesn't take it to heart. the last thing you want is to hurt the one person you adore so much. luckily, chan knows you don't mean it but it doesn't hurt him any less.

“all of it.” he softly speaks. you feel the weight being lifted up off the mattress and footsteps against the wood flooring before the bedroom door squeaks open at the hinges.

your heart breaks. hot angry tears finally being set free and rolling down the bridge of your nose and cheeks, soaking into the material of your pillow. you sob, curling up into a ball even more as your heart aches in your chest. you grip onto the pillow as you silently cry out for chan, thinking he has completely left you alone.

but you did ask for it so why do you feel so guilty?

the duvet gets pulled back from you, the cold air hitting your hot and sweaty skin. the mattress dips once again as an arm snakes over your midriff. chest being pressed against your back as chan spoons you.

“don't cry, darlin'. i'm here, your channie is here.” his soft words provide you with a sense of comfort and an indescribable feeling of warmth as well as relief. his hand strokes your soft stomach, his lips kissing your neck so tenderly you worry that he isn't really there. 

“c-chan…” you sob through your words as a way of confirmation. you can't breathe, the pain of everything that's built up over the past months is making it impossible for you to breathe. your mind fogs over as your chest heaves up and down.

you struggle to take breaths as tears stream down your face. your pillow becomes soaked with your tears. chan strokes your unwashed hair gently, hushing you and singing softly to help ground you.

“sh sh sh. you're ok, you're safe.” he whispers.

“sorry! i'm sorry!” you repeat over and over again in your fits of tears. chan continues to hush you, noticing that it's not working so he gently rolls you over to face him and pulls you into his naked chest. 

the warmth and softness of his skin calms you down in an instant. his natural scent hugs your nostrils and sinks into your heart, soothing your heartbeat as well as your mind. you grip onto him, desperately trying to cling onto something before resulting in wrapping your arms around him tightly. 

he gives you a bear hug. arms around your shoulders gently, fingers raking and massaging your scalp. his chest wet with tears as he continues to hush you through your episode.

there isn't much he can do when you're crying like this except wait. wait for it to pass–and it does, fifteen minutes later.

“better?” he gently asks. you peer up at him to notice that his own cheeks are wet with a few tears slowly falling.

“you're crying..” you whisper as you reach up and wipe the tears away. chan laughs softly before leaning into your touch. “why?”

“because it pains me to see you like this, my love.” that guilt comes back, settling in your stomach and wrapping itself around your heart, like black fog. you look down, tears falling from your lower lash line.

“sorry..” you mumble.

“hey.” chan unwraps his arms from you to gently lift up your head. “it hurts because i can't do anything about it. it hurts because i love you! seeing you in so much pain is rough darling. and it's not physical pain either, it's not like i can put a band aid on your wound.”

“i'm sorry i'm like this, chan. sorry i'm so difficult and such a disappointment.”

“oi.” his tone of voice turns stern which causes you to look up at him. his brows furrowed together as he reaches and strokes your cheek. “you're not a disappointment or difficult baby. it's ok to feel like this, to have off days and feel like nothing is right, however, you have to come to me when you feel like this! or if you can't come to me, talk to a friend.”

“but i hate talking about my feelings, chan.. i feel like a burden and that it just bores people and when i do confined in people, it feels like i don't get the comfort i expect to get so i'm left thinking if it's worth it and if i just expect too much from people.”

“what have i told you about bottling things up, mhm?”

“that it's just going to keep building and building until i explode.” you mumble to which chan hums and nods too

“imagine you're a bottle of fizzy pop. your body is the bottle, your feelings are the fizzy liquid. what happens when you shake a bottle of fizzy pop?”

“it bubbles and explodes, creating a huge mess.”

“and what happens when you bottle your feelings up?”

“i get shaken up by the smallest of things, which causes me to bubble and explode..”

“mhm. you have to remember, my darling, that how you feel is valid. your feelings are valid. you might seem like it's something so small or stupid, but that something small could build and build and build.”

“so i should come to you whenever i feel negative?”

“yes.”

“even if i'm frustrated at a piece of work? even if i can't get a recipe right and it annoys me?”

“yes.”

“but that is so small and not as important..”

“yn, if it's bothering you then it's big. if it's bothering you, it's important to me. if you feel angry, upset, energy less, i beg that you come to me or to a friend! it's important that we voice these things, let it be known because you'll feel better.” he tucks your hair behind your ear gently before you nuzzle into his chest, thinking about what he's saying.

he is correct. he always is and that's the thing that sometimes bothers you, but in a good way! it just means that you can't hide anything from chan, whether it's good or bad and when you are feeling down, chan is always there to pick you back up and dust you off, providing you with love and comfort.

“shall we go shower together to start the day?”

“isnt it a bit late for that? besides, hasn't your day already started?” you mumble against his chest.

“it's never too late to start the day and besides, i don't mind ‘restarting’ my day if it means i get to do it with you.” he kisses the top of your head gently, stroking your back as you tangle your legs with his.

“soon.”

“soon?” he questions.

“i just want to spend some more minutes with you..”

“we can spend as many minutes together as you like, my darling. as long as you're happy and content.”

“i'm always happy and content with you, chan. you're my safe space.”

“and i hope i continue to be and provide you with that safe space, yn.”

[williamswifey]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 - 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐘

pairing ; bella ramsey x fem!reader

summary ; bella does an at home interview, and you overheard them discussing your relationship while they think you’re asleep.

content warnings ; none

a/n ; i was watching a bella ramsey interview and was inspired so enjoy this 🥹

masterlist

you blinked sleepily as your eyes fluttered open, rolling over to your right. while normally your head would gently hit bella’s chest, instead you found yourself brushing against an empty, cold spot.

this woke you up fully as you sat up in confusion. you yawned and stretched, and you could hear bella’s voice coming from the dining room. their voice was loud, much louder than it usually was when they were on the phone attempting to remain quiet while you slept.

however, you noticed bella’s tone was professional, the way they did whenever in public or when doing something work related.

oh.

you remembered last night bella had mentioned an interview early in the morning, and you had been half asleep as you hummed in acknowledgment to their statement.

you frowned. it was a saturday, and you loved saturday mornings with bella. you loved cuddling with them until noon, you loved brushing you teeth side by side. you loved cooking breakfast with them and doing chores while singing, and then rewarding yourselves with lunch and a movie.

however, bella wasn’t there for you to cuddle. the room felt chillier, and your feet softly padded down the hallway of your shared apartment.

you peeked your head out slightly, trying to get bella’s attention so you could wave to them. except bella was so into the interview, they were in their own world. you loved how serious they were about their job, and how respectful they were to interviewers.

you sighed, noticing bella had left a few windows open throughout the hallway. you closed them and went back into your bedroom to grab one of bella’s sweatshirts. it was long and fluffy on the inside and smelled so strongly of bella you could’ve mistaken it for the real thing.

when you returned to the spot you stood moments prior, you noticed bella and the interviewer discussing an entirely new topic: you.

“…yeah, as cringey as it sounds i never really felt i belonged until i met y/n. it was an instant bond—an instant warmth. it sounds cliché, i know, but…my heart was just drawn to her.”

“that’s beautiful,” the interviewer commented, “now tell me, how different do you think your life would be without y/n?”

you heard bella scoff at the question, as if it was a joke.

“i don’t think i could fathom a world without y/n. i definitely wouldn’t be where i am today—she’s pushed me to do the unthinkable.”

“do you think she feels the same way?” the man on the laptop asked.

“i’d hope so,” bella said with a giggle, “i mean, she’s asleep right now but otherwise i’d straight up go and ask her.”

“you live together? how’s that experience been?”

“it was the best decision of my life. getting to wake up next to y/n every morning—being able to see the little things about her, the things i wouldn’t have seen had we not lived together.”

you felt a smile grace your face. you bit down on your lip, and you felt your heart squeeze within your chest.

“your relationship is by far one of the most popular on social media. how have the two of you dealt with being in the spotlight?”

“um…it surprisingly doesn’t affect us much. because yeah—our fans see a lot of our relationship, but it’s really only what we want them to see. there’s still so much to our relationship that’s only for us to have, and that’s what keeps the spark going.”

you grinned to yourself, fiddling with the lose thread on bella’s sweatshirt. you listened for a few more minutes—even after the topic had changed. you loved watching bella at work, but you were exhausted and couldn’t fight the urge to crawl back into bed.

you had fallen asleep again, much to your distaste, though a soft hand running throughout your hair woke you up.

you blinked to see bella above you, smiling down at your sleeping figure. they noticed you stirring awake and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“my sleepy girl,” they said softly, “how did you sleep?”

“good,” you replied, “better now that you’re here.”

your hands interlocked with bella’s, and you remembered everything they said about you. it made your heart flutter as you pulled them impossibly closer.

“i love you, bella. you know that right?”

bella let out a hearty chuckle at your words.

“of course i know that darling, i love you too.”

“you promise?” you asked, sleep still fogging your brain, but your head was clear enough to know that you loved bella more than anything else.

“on my life,” bella whispered back, pulling the blanket over the two of you, ensuring that your saturday morning cuddles were still on track.

[horse-girl-anthy]

this passage from the Kotani interview has long fascinated me:

Kotani: In the middle part of the tv series is the story of the Black Rose Society (Nemuro Memorial Hall). It's stylized, weird and creepy. Personally, I really liked that part. Ikuhara: That's something women like. That part was difficult for me though. Kotani: I thought the stylization was really excellent. There's the arrow symbols, and the confession in the elevator. When the elevator stops, there is a morgue-like place, with jumbled rows of coffins. It feels dark and mysterious. You know, I like bondage stuff (laugh). Basically, I like deviation, I want to escape away, but if you are not oppressed there is no way to escape. In order to deviate, you have to first be tied up. The Black Rose Society particularly emphasizes that, doesn't it? You have some worries, so first of all, someone will slowly look them over. Places of surveillance as places of bondage—e.g. a military unit, a monastery, or a dorm becomes an excellent stage setting, right? Ikuhara: I like it too. But by deviance, do you mean sexual deviance? Kotani: Deviance from the system. A community with rules, where there is someone like a dorm supervisor who runs a tight ship, and you escape from it.

"escape" has been one of the central fantasies of my life. Kotani and Ikuhara go on to talk about sexuality and the relationship of bondage to it, as well as to gender. all of that resonates with me; this kind of dynamic certainly has sexual manifestations. but it doesn't have to be expressed sexually. for as long as I can remember, I've been interested in stories of captivity, coercion, and control--with escape often as the climax of such fantasies.

before reading this interview, I didn't make the connection between my "kink" for domination/submission and RGU. it didn't make me feel the things I'm looking for in those kind of stories. I'm drawn to visceral examples of domination, like imprisonment, forced relationships, controlling communities, etc.

Kotani and Ikuhara also discuss RGU's similarities to dynamics in yaoi, specifically the Akio/Anthy/Utena triangle. that's where the "bondage" element of RGU can be felt most strongly. however, it was somehow missing the passion I found in other stories.

speaking of Anne Rice's Beauty series, Kotani says:

In the story, [forced submission] keeps happening; ordinarily, since everyone is put in a position like Anthy's, you would expect them to hate it, but in fact they don't (laugh).

I connect to this to what she said above about having first to be tied up in order to deviate. my desire for escape is so strong that my subconscious will literally create dreams in which I am first held captive and then break free. would I be this way if I hadn't been raised in a repressive community? maybe not. but the fact remains that I am now drawn to domination and to submission.

but in real life, domination is horrible. it gets under your skin and makes you feel dirty. and the more subtle its means, the more difficult it is to extricate yourself. perhaps one of the reasons I found RGU so hard to watch the first time I sat through it is that it robbed me of my enjoyment in domination/submission. the ways in which Akio exercised power were underhanded and manipulative--they were designed to go unnoticed, making them far more dangerous psychologically than, say, being physically tied up. he was even able to deny his own power in the situation, setting things up so well that he could turn things back on those he harmed.

RGU is erotic. it is erotic even in its most disturbing scenes--Akio's "nights alone" with Utena and Anthy. but there was none of the thrill in it for me that I got out of yaoi. there weren't any of the enjoyable power struggles that I found in more conventional narratives. hanging over the final 10 episodes was a sense of sickness, perversion, that didn't arise from the subject matter per se, but rather from how it was presented. there was a light touch to it, a reserve. it was unflinching but subtle.

most disturbingly, I think, the story weaved into the domination/submission narrative the question of dependency. as in, Utena and Anthy are not only in the situation they find themselves in due to coercion, but also due to their psychological need for Akio. in submission, I wanted to find a loss of responsibility--I wanted to be rendered helpless "against my own will." by being controlled, I would no longer have to be an agent, freeing me from the burden of selfhood. there was an appeal in it beyond just the desire to escape that I didn't want to admit. to face my complicity in my own subjugation was frightening--to admit it would be like saying I wanted, deserved, mistreatment.

of course, Akio does try to create and maintain said dependency, and there is a serious age/power differential between the characters. but I think the seductiveness of domination and the ease with which one can choose to submit are a major themes of RGU. I like stories of overt violence and captivity because they blow up, dramatize the far more common forms of control we experience in social systems. in RGU, the bonds are in the mind, not on the body. their slipperiness makes them nauseating, not titilating.

thus, RGU didn't give me my usual enjoyment in the sense of "being under someone's thumb." but it did give me one of the most satisfying escapes that I've ever experienced in my life.

episode 39 pulls back the curtains to reveal what submission means. I don't think there's anything wrong with bondage/escape fantasies, but there's something to be said for acknowledging reality. Anthy is the representation of the part of every woman (every person) who's ever had to take a blow, or swallow an objection, or resign themselves to cruelty. if Utena gave in to Akio, she would be not only turning away from a friend in need, but also denying herself--locking away her internal "Rose Bride."

Utena ultimately defies Akio and Anthy is freed entirely--freed even from dependency. then the show makes clear what had previously been obscured, that Akio was just as dependent on Anthy as she was on him, if not more so. this turns the established power dynamics upside down, completing the revolution. what makes this ending so powerful is that it has finality to it: the cycle of domination and submission will no longer perpetuate itself, as it is no longer needed. by dramatizing the ugliness of domination, RGU is able to paint a realistic picture of the road to liberation.

[forthevillains]

I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ANSWERED OMG— okokok THANKS, and sorry but if it's confusing, it's because English is not my first language.

I was thinking about Albert Wesker with Fem!Reader being a poor woman; from a negligent family, with a disastrous job and in general, a miserable life. He takes the same simple interest in her as he did in the later mother of his child (if we're talking about the canonical story of the game), but what if Fem!Reader rejects him? How would Albert react to a woman saying 'no' to him after he offers her financial security, sex and money?

I have a little theory that he would have sexist ideas about women like Fem!Reader, who aren't looking for something better for themselves—but the truth is that his ego was bruised, and eventually he is drawn to her even more strongly. Such is the intensity of his longing for this woman that Albert questions whether it would be right to continue, considering that he gets bored of people quickly.

In a nutshell? I'm thirsty for a pathetic and perverse Wesker, desperate to conquer and possess a woman who isn't the least bit interested in him. He would become more and more insistent, bordering on insanity and obsession for her.

Sorry, I got hooked watching Wesker's edits and that's how I got hooked lmao😔

Ok no I love this idea too much. I apologize beforehand if it feels a little rushed, but I hope you’ll still enjoy!

You were nothing but a disappointment to all of your surroundings. Since you were a child, you were abused, mostly mentally by both of your parents. You were unwanted, someone who wasn’t supposed to be alive at all. Growing up poor, with no friends or family to support you made you depend on no one but yourself and as the time went on, you ran away from your abusive parents to begin your own life with high hopes of money, partner and success. Your mind was filled with visions that were not only unreal for someone like you, but also difficult to achieve for a regular person.

It was no surprise you ended up on the streets, thrown out of the school where you purposely failed every single subject only to not see your terrible classmates ever again. It was a terrible sight, truly, even for passersby, but no one as much as stood up for you or gave you any sort of financial support. That was until another young woman acknowledged the only thing that you had - beauty. And so you ended up being a prostitute at just 16 years old.

You felt pathetic, especially the first few years in your newfound job that did you no good. It was a traumatic experience to say the least and you could barely afford the rent by yourself. You had to live with a few other girls to keep on surviving like that. No matter how hard you tried, how beautiful you looked, there was no one else to buy you except for the creeps and drug dealers that were desperate for a woman to warm their bed just for a night. You spent most of the time in other people’s places, in uncomfortable positions, hell once a guy even attempted to lock you in his basement.

You had to improve yourself, to learn how to stand up for yourself, to stay protected and with the help of the girls who were doing it for longer than you have - you managed it. You’ve become a confident woman, no matter how miserable you felt at times, no matter how disgusting a man that chose you was, you went with it. You became good at one thing finally, that being seducing men and stripping them off all their money.

It came to the point where you were able to choose your customers as more handsome men approached you, whether the age was appropriate, you cared not. What became important to you was their treatment. They had to respect you before and after the intercourse. That was your only requirement.

But little did you know as you were walking through the streets of the city, pretending to be someone you were not, you caught an eye of the devil himself. Not only were you too beautiful for a man’s eye to miss, but the way you acted, talked so highly as if you weren’t a literal whore to be sold… It made a certain man more than interested to find out just who the hell you are.

Wesker was curious about you, truly, yet he soon got to know the truth. He was quick to find out your true nature, that you’re just pretending. Something in him just wanted to test the waters around you, to just play with you a little.

He’s found his way to you, paying you for a night, for the entire night. You couldn’t say no to a man like him, so handsome, beautiful and yet mysterious. He caught your eye as well, just as he thought he would. Not only that, he proved to be more than just a good lover, bringing you pleasures you haven’t even dreamt of, especially when you were the one getting money for it. Wesker definitely made sure to shower you with attention that night, he did it purely for himself though, to satisfy his ego, to have you all over him the next day, to wrap you around his finger just like all the previous women in his life. It was nothing but a sport to him.

You’ve fallen asleep as the morning slowly approached and when you woke up, he was already dressed again, sitting on a chair he pulled beside the bed to watch you the entire time, observing, thinking… He’s grown to a conclusion that he could definitely get something more from you. He’d come up with an offer he was almost certain you couldn’t turn down.

"Good morning, dearheart,” his blue eyes bore into your sleepy ones when you opened them, the unexpected sound of his voice nearly making you jump. You blinked a few times, rubbing your eyes as you slowly sat up.

"Morning…” you mumbled and just tried to realize what really happened last night. It was tough after how much he exhausted you… It was unusual as barely any man you’ve been with managed to go for more than just two rounds. And that goes without even making you come at all. Wesker on the other hand… "You know you could’ve left, right?”

He gives you a small smile when you mention it. "I’m not that type of a guy.”

You chuckle at that. "You must be pretty rich then.” And then you get up, collecting all your clothes from the ground. Only when you go to pick up your bra that was laying by his feet, he catches you by the wrist, making you look at him.

"Aren’t you tired of doing this?” he questions.

"Doing what?” You answer with yet another question and forcefully rip your hand away from him, finally picking up the last piece of clothing.

"Selling yourself.”

You almost laugh out loud while you’re getting dressed, ignoring how his eyes keep slipping from your face to your body as it’s still not completely covered. "You haven’t paid me enough to answer personal questions.”

"Would you answer them if I offered you a better life, then?”

You raise an eyebrow in curiosity. "And that would be?”

He stands up finally, walking up to you, towering over you and only now do you realize how big he really is compared to you. Slightly scary even. He reaches out his hand to touch you, caressing one of your cheeks softly, then tracing your jaw only to grip your chin tightly when he reaches it. "You are quite a unique woman, I must admit. I’ve not laid my eyes upon a more beautiful one, to say the least. What would you say to an exchange of services, hm? You could easily earn a home, everything that you’d want or need and maybe if you’d be good enough, you’d earn a husband as well.”

Your eyes widen in shock. You just stare at him for a moment, trying to process what he’s just told you. And then it hits you. The urge to laugh, at him. So you do, pushing his hand away.

His expression changes to a confused one as you seem to make fun of him. And he doesn’t take it lightly.

"That’s definitely going to be a no,” you snort, not taking his offended look to heart.

"That wasn’t a joke.”

"I’m sorry, but you must be delusional to think I’d ruin my life further more for a man I barely know. You may be good looking, but that doesn’t make you special,” you finally calm down a little, but there’s still a smile tugging at your lips even though you try your best to suppress it.

"Ruin? I’m offering you help, you, a literal prostitute. What other opportunity do you think you’ll get?” He’s getting pretty pissed and it’s more than noticeable.

"I don’t need one. I’m rather going to continue selling my body than giving someone a soul to keep,” you finally get serious also. You turn on your heel, grabbing the money he left for you on the nightstand, planning to leave.

"You’re going to regret that! Enjoy your pitiful life as a hooker!” He shouts behind you, with no intention in stopping you. He’s shocked, pissed, even embarrassed slightly. How could you say no to him? How could you prefer a routine such as atrocious as yours over living with him? He didn’t get it. But he still let you go. For now.

Days passed, weeks even and you haven’t heard of him, to your surprise. Although he’s thought of you, repeating that dialogue in his head all over again every single day. He’s not special? Him? Do you really think you’re better than him? He couldn’t get it through his head. You weren’t better in anything, you were just a poor woman with no proper life or education. Wesker couldn’t get it off his mind, your rejection should’ve been a sign that he could move on with his life like nothing happened. He hasn’t spent that much on you anyway… But for some wicked reason, he couldn’t move on. A woman like you rejected him, how fucking embarrassing. He wouldn’t let this slide.

And he didn’t. Two months after that incident, you’d come back to your apartment on fire, getting to know all your friends that lived with you died inside and couldn’t be saved. That there was not a chance for them to make it out. You’ve lost your all. No one was able to tell how it happened, whether it was accident or not. Wesker took care of it. No one would know. He knew it’d break you even more, losing the little you had, knowing you’d cry so badly you’d lose yourself in the grief. You had nowhere to go, once again, no one to talk to… And he’d wait only a while till he’d be back with his offer, knowing you wouldn’t turn him down this time. The suspicion be damned, he didn’t care if you knew it was him. He wanted to stay true to his words and oh did you regret rejecting him the first time…

[myfandomprompts]

To Risk It All | Chapter 2

Summary: Daera's family finally arrives in King's Landing, and as tragedy unleashes on her House, Aemond grows fascinated.

Warnings: Blood, mutilation. | Previous part - Masterlist

Daera visited her brother as soon as she was awake, finding him curled in his sheets, evidently still asleep and she concluded that he must have had as little sleep as she did last night.

She had come back from her ride with a lighter heart, Seasmoke allowing her to take in the surroundings of the city, flying her above the bay, over the Kingswood, and finally circling the Red Keep. She tried to memorise each of its towers and passageways before heading back to the Dragon Pit.

It may have helped her find sleep more easily, but she still felt exhausted when she decided to explore the castle ground the next morning, braving the many stares she earned from the court members as she strolled the corridors, proudly displaying her house colours in her aquamarine gown.

She ignored what her mother and great-cousins had planned when they would anchor in King’s Landing, but Daera was set on learning everything she could before their arrival, before she would be forced to face the man who had allowed her father to die ; to face the King. 

So she wandered the serpentine stairs, the gardens and the royal sept before her feet were drawn to the lower courtyard. It was far from empty, the training ground below her full of men eager to learn.

Perched on the balcony over the courtyard, Daera watched the trainees wave their sword around, an old weapon master barking orders at them. As she examined their faces, she was left to wonder if the royal family participated in such training. Maybe she would be lucky enough to see one of them.

"Daera."

She recognised the voice instantly as the newcomer took place next to her. 

“Princess Rhaenys,” she greeted politely, unable to grant her a smile.

The Queen Who Never Was wore drawn-looking features as she gazed down at the training grounds in turn, her posture stiff and wary. Daera felt sympathy for her great-aunt, whose husband’s fate was currently uncertain, far away at sea, the fate of her House hanging by a threat. 

Of their House. “I’ve been told you arrived yesterday, it is a good thing.” 

Some of the men below started to form groups, two young squires circling around each other, training swords in hand. “I disagree. I should have come with father and brother, to have insisted upon coming.”

“It would not have changed anything, my dear. None of us could have predicted what would have happened.”

“Mayhaps not, but nonetheless I would have been here.”

Daera scratched the stone of the railing anxiously as she watched one of the men strike a blow to his opponent, sending him to the ground.

“It was a foul act,” Rhaenys continued, the wisdom conveyed in her voice palpable. “I did not see eye to eye with your father regarding his views, but it does not mean I do not mourn for his death, as well as the brutality of it. I am sorry for your loss, Daera.”

Daera risked a glance at her, willing to remain composed under so many eyes scrutinising her. “Thank you, great-aunt. I do hope for the safe return of your husband as well.”

An extended silence settled between the two of them, only filled with the sound of steel against steel, Daera’s gaze lost in its movement and she felt something odd tingling at the back of her neck.

“How is your brother? I did not have the chance to see him. The Queen was surprisingly keen to keep him under her care, I noticed.”

Daera frowned at that, but decided to think about this oddity later as she answered. “I cannot truly tell. He shows remarkable poise, but I fear that the more he keeps to himself, the more resentful he will feel.”

“You must find a way to soothe him, Daera. The grievances we suffer at a tender age cling to us more strongly than any other, grow more powerful than any other. It tends to turn into something darker.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rhaenys spotted a silver-haired man standing at the edge of the training ground, her last words fitting him perfectly as she stared at him. His single valid eye scoured the sparring men as he leaned over the weapon rack, waiting patiently for his turn.

But Daera had not noticed, her thoughts filled with her brother, far away from what was happening below her as the prickling feeling at her neck grew inexplicably stronger. 

“I have something for you," Daera watched as her great-aunt reached for the pouch at her waist and presented a silver and blue ring to her. “I secured it… from your father,” she said as Daera’s heartbeat fastened at the sight of her Vaemond’s signet ring. “I took it before the Silent Sisters could gather his belongings. I should have been returned to your brother, or you.”

The Velaryon’s sigil carved onto it shone in the morning sunlight as she reached for it, feeling something heavy in her throat. Or was it the weight of her father’s legacy?

“I… Thank you. Princess Rhaenys,” she managed to say, turning the ring between her fingers as the woman before her nodded in acknowledgement, in sympathy.

The smile the Queen Who Never Was gave her was genuine, a comfort Daera didn’t know she needed. “Please, be careful Daera.”

She took her hands in hers with affection before turning away and leaving her on the balcony to stare at her father’s ring with confusion and repressed tears.

Down below, Aemond Targaryen was weighing his sword in his hand as he placed himself next to the master of arms, eager to prove himself, the very opposite image of his brother that had avoided training yet again. For a moment, he swore he saw something blue flash at the corner of his eye up above, but as he looked, he saw nothing, and the next moment the tension he had felt arriving in the courtyard disappeared.

The scent of jasmine tickled his nose as he started to spar.

Daera spent the rest of her morning in Daemion’s company, ensuring that he had enough to eat, enough to drink, trying to keep him busy with games and occasional conversations that felt empty. Overall, the wait for their kin to arrive was a distress, every hour that passed with the knowledge of their father decaying down in the sept and not in the sea saddening them.

“I met with Princess Rhaenys,” she began when she found the strength to broach the matter. “She said that she regretted not being able to see you.”

Daemion shrugged as he moved a spearman on the board. “I did not wish to see anyone. Queen Alicent granted me the peace I needed.”

“I see,” mused Daera, and she wondered if the Queen did not regret the death of their father more than Rhaenys herself. “She gave me something for you.”

As she presented the signet ring, she saw her brother’s eyes widen a moment before falling in deep reflection. “Father’s ring…”

“It belongs to you now,” she said with a half smile as she extended the ring to him. 

But he did not take it.

“I don’t want it,” he stated, shaking his head. “I don’t deserve it.”

Daera withdrew her hand in confusion. “What do you mean, you don’t deserve it, Daemion?”

“I am not worthy of it, not until I avenge him. Until I kill him.”

Daera sensed the uncomfortable weight settle back in her throat as she searched her brother’s eyes, now harshly looking out of the window as if he wished all of what he saw to burn. “Kill who, Daemion?”

Her brother snapped his eyes at her, harsh purple irises staring back at her. “Daemon Targaryen.”

She let her brain process the words before speaking, voice slightly trembling. “Daemion, you can’t say things like that, you know that we cannot make justice ourselves, and the Rogue Prince is-”

“You weren’t there!” he suddenly shouted, voice shrill as tears began to appear at the rim of his eyes. “You did not see how he murdered father, taunting him and then killing him from behind, and no one did anything against that, no one acted. No one.”

Daera was speechless as tears of fury now rolled down her brother’s cheeks, her thoughts clouded with the need to protect her brother from all harm, from impossible pain. She would give her life before she let anything happen to him, before she would let him face the Rogue Prince.

Protect him.

She pulled him in a tight embrace, kissing the top of his hair as she tried to stop both their hearts from hammering, to chase the ache away. “I know. I know it is unfair. But we must not think like that, we must be stronger. Do not let those feelings consume you Daemion, or we will lose in the end, I beg of you.”

He remained silent, resting in her arms for a while before they silently resumed their game of Cyvass, but neither of them was focused anymore. What would happen once their mother and cousins finally appear at shore, they didn’t know.

When they were summoned by the Queen, Daera took a moment to grab a chain in the vanity and put her father’s ring around it before safely tucking it in her cleavage and around her neck, hidden. If Daemion did not want it yet, she would wear it for safekeeping, with a promise.

She would save her House from downfall.

The Queen had ordered upon their arrival a plethora of dishes for them to eat, but both Daera and Daemion did not have much appetite. Instead, Daera spent the entirety of the meal wondering what the Queen’s purpose was, why she had kept her brother close and why she invited them while her husband had ordered their father’s tongue removed. 

She seemed genuinely sorry for them, and Daera was forced to remember that she was a woman, a mother, before being a Queen. She had also been the one her father had gone to for support when he found none within his own family

It was when cake was served that Daera finally understood the reason for her presence in the Queen’s solar. “You have not yet been betrothed, Lady Velaryon, if I am correct. Neither courted?”

“I am not, your Grace,” she answered clumsily as she swallowed a piece of lemon cake, her brother giving her a fleeting glance beside her. “My father had always been keen on finding a perfect match for me.”

“As is his right. What about your mother? Does she share the same views?”

“Oh, very much so. At this rate, I fear that I will never be married.”

This elicited a smile from Alicent while Daemion stared down at his plate. Talks of his sister going away never pleased him.

“You are an excellent match Daera, do not concern yourself. I am certain that you will have plenty of choices for a suiter when the time comes.”

Daera had not the strength to reply, neither in agreement nor otherwise, and settled for draining the content of her cup in silence. She was the daughter of a fallen man, even called a traitor by some, and Daera doubted that she would be an eligible choice for any of the Lords of the Kingdoms. Not that she eagerly wanted to be married.

But she could now clearly see the Queen’s train of thoughts behind her brown eyes, considering her, anticipating. 

She put a stop to that. “How old were you when you married the King?” 

Alicent turned pensive. “Eighteen of age. It already seems like a lifetime ago in truth. Viserys has always been a good husband to me, very loving.”

Daera could see the reminiscence within the Queen’s eyes as she looked away, memories of a simpler time when dynasties were not at the brink of breaking apart. She had heard once that she and Princess Rhaenyra were friends once, and wondered how much of it was true.

But she had no chance to ask as the Queen gracefully invited them to pray at the Sept later in the afternoon, a proposition Daera could not bring herself to refuse as the last of the cakes were taken away. 

As both she and her brother made their way out of her solar, she found herself hindered by something tall and dark, managing to avoid colliding with it in time and not to make a complete fool of herself.

“Ah. Lady Daera Velaryon, I presume.” 

On her right, Aegon Targaryen was watching her with a half-concealed smile, standing nonchalantly on the threshold. She had to clear her throat in order to compose herself as her brother came to a stop next to her, as taken aback as she was.

“Prince Aegon,” she bowed, unsure, their last encounter still fresh in her mind.

“It seems that you have beaten us to my mother’s, the both of you,” he remarked, glancing at Daemion who looked up at him bashfully. “I hope she will forgive us. We were quite… occupied.”

Daera finally lifted her head to the tall shadow in front of her and when she saw who she had almost crashed into, she felt a shiver travel down her spine. 

He was unmistakable, with his long silver hair, a sharp jawline, a single lilac eye staring at her with indifference and the other covered by a leather patch that hid part of a long scar across his pale skin she had seen red with blood in her youth. He was tall, much more so than his brother, lean, dressed in green leather and hands laced behind his back in a flawless confident manner.

Aemond Targaryen. 

He had not moved an inch, evidently unbothered by the way she had almost collided with him and as she stared she only saw how his eye coldly examined her, as if she was but a mere obstacle on his path.

She could smell something of a mix between smoke and spice from their close proximity, noticing the lack of dragon scent she had expected from him. It engulfed her senses at once, making her eyes flutter.

He looked like a Prince, a proper one from, as beautiful and biting as the sun.

“My brother, Aemond,” Aegon introduced, tapping lightly on his brother’s back before reporting his gaze to Daera, evidently staring. “But you surely remember him, as he left quite the souvenir at High Tide, didn’t he?”

Aemond had no reaction, keeping his demeanour stiff, his rosy lips drawn in a thin line as he kept an unfaltering gaze on her. She knew him quite cold from reputation, but had not expected to feel this way, the scrutiny.

“Prince Aemond,” she bowed, not leaving his single eye and she let out a breath she did not know she was holding when he finally granted her and Daemion a slight nod, indicating that he was a living breathing person capable of movement. However he remained completely silent, and she instantly wished that he would talk, even for a short moment. One word and she would have confirmation that her suspicions about her encounter in the streets of the capital had been right.

One word and she would know why she had felt that way.

Instead, he remained immobile, expressionless, and she realised she had been staring for far too long.

“You seem tired, Lady Velaryon,” Aegon spoke again, narrowing his eyes in false concern. “Did you have trouble sleeping? Maybe a nightly promenade would have been most helpful. Or a ride perhaps?”

While Daemion next to her stiffened at the Prince's indelicacy upon questioning a grieving person on their looks, Daera was glad to finally see a reaction in the second son who snapped his head towards his brother suspiciously.

“I have done exactly that, actually,” she smiled softly, “I happened to have found my journey quite revealing, as it turns out. Nothing beats the bond that ties us to our dragon, even though the smell I would be glad without,” she kept on, feeling the fleeting glance Aemond gave her, “You seem to be well rested yourself, Prince Aegon.”

She felt the confusion radiate from Aemond as his brother’s smile widened, joyful. “In perfect shape. Nothing more than a good night's sleep to brighten the mood.”

Aemond had his eye narrowed in deep wariness while Daemion was growing impatient, if not uncomfortable.

“The Queen awaits,” came the voice of the dornish looking Kingsguard behind Daera, and she quickly bowed to the Princes before strolling away.

“What did you do?” Aemond asked as soon as he was certain the Velaryons were out of ear shot.

“Nothing,” answered Aegon with exaggerated confusion. “I am not always the one to blame, brother. I could surprise you."

“Do not lie to me, Aegon. I know you were not in your chambers last night.”

“Oh, and you know that how? Since you weren't in yours either?”

Aemond gave him a fuming look as he stepped away in order to let him pass the door to their mother’s solar. Right before he followed, he allowed himself a glance at the two departing forms in the corridor, and tried to remain stiff when the gaze of Daera stared back at him as she turned a corner.

“You have been summoned to the Small Hall.”

Daera looked confused before the white armoured Kingsguard that stood at her door. “But I am to meet with the Queen at the Sept-”

“The Queen is already there with his Grace, the King,” he cut in. "You are to take place beside your household.”

Daera only understood when the Knight waited for her to follow him before going to her brother’s chambers. Her family had arrived and had gone straight to seek an audience with the King without coming to see them first. Daera realised that her brother would have to suffer another public appearance much sooner than expected.

The Small Hall was grand despite the name, with pillars akin to the Throne room placed on each side, however much more humbly carved and candlelights coursing each of them. The Crown had apparently not been willing to repeat the debacle that had been Vaemond and Rhaenyra’s petition and gathered a smaller crowd, faces she did not recognise looking back at her. A single chair had been put at the end of the room, elevated over the people, and Daera was surprised to see the King even in attendance. He was a decaying thing, she thought, barely able to open his single eye, hair falling like broken strings at either side of his face, crown evidently too heavy on his head as he was coated within a dense mantel that was far too big for his frame.

Alicent Hightower stood at his side, silent as she roamed the room like a hawk while further at the side of them stood a man with a Hand designed pin on his robes, a gleaming eye observing her entrance. But what caught her eye was first the bored look of Aegon standing next to his grandfather, and beside him, Aemond.

He truly had the appearance of a Targaryen, her heart jolting in her chest when his gaze landed directly on her, drawn like a magnet. He may not have been the first-born, or even the first male-born son, but everything in him breathed royalty, from his manner of standing to the way he seemed to consider everything around him as owed, like he could make them all bend to his will in a matter of seconds. Without the eye patch, without what made him a monster in reputation, he would have been the most prized possession of the Red Keep.

Mesmerised, she did not have the good sense to break eye contact until she was forced to by the calling of her name. “Daera, Daemion!”

“Mother!” Daemion ran into Lady Elinda’s arms, affectionately wrapping them around his little shoulders. Lady Elinda wore the aquamarine colours of her house, long hair gathered in an intricate bun on her head and the silver seahorse adorning her sleeves, exhausted traits but evidently happy to see her children.

Daera smiled widely while she kissed her mother and greeted the two cousins that stood beside her, their hair dishevelled by the sea wind. They didn't waste a second to whisper inquisitive questions in her ears as they cast a hard gaze on the king. 

“Have you been able to talk to the Queen, Daera?” asked Gaemon, not wasting any time to dive into the matter at hand.

“I did. I do believe that she had been helpless in the face of what happened to father. It’s only the Rogue Prince’s doing. And the King’s.”

She was careful to utter her last sentence as quietly as possible, and Gaemon nodded in acknowledgement while exchanging a knowing glance with Malentine as he straightened up to gaze at the King, seated before them all.

“Let us be quick with this… matter,” the King began, breath ragged by the effort as he waved a heavy hand toward Otto Hightower. “They may come forward.”

Daera took her place beside her mother and Daemion, doing her best to make herself as unremarkable as possible standing at the opposite side from where the princelings were standing while her great-cousins advanced.

She noticed that Helaena was absent, the Princess apparently excluded from such gatherings after the ‘incident’, and while she watched Aegon yawn, evidently regretting having participated at all already, Daera searched the many faces present and couldn’t help but remark a very obvious absence: Rhaenys Targaryen.

Did the royals forget to summon her for matters regarding her House? Or did they do it on purpose? Was it why the audience had been precipitated?

“Your Grace, we have come first and foremost to retrieve the body of our kin, Vaemond Velaryon, in order to honour his death with our customs.”

“Yes, yes… Very well. I regret the loss you suffered my Lords. I truly… truly do.”

Daera tried not to visibly wince at the obvious pain the man was under. Malentine spoke next.

“But we came for another purpose, a request, a fair one we wager. Our cousin came to claim his right, his birthright to this court, seeking help from the highest authority there is, on that should be impartial. Yet he was blatantly murdered.”

The room fell silent while the court reminisced Daemon’s crime, not knowing exactly how the King would handle the accusatory tone of Malentine as he kept on, “We demand reparation.”

From her position, she could feel the many eyes staring at the King, awaiting his reaction. But only one eye was set into her great cousin’s sight still, gaze so intense that she was certain she could feel it on her flesh, that it even reached her from this distance. Aemond Targaryen was still as a statue, but she could feel the fire emanating from him.

“And what… What do you suggest… I do?” the King spoke, eyes slightly wider than before, but head lolling nonetheless. “I did not order it and Lord Vaemond was surely not… innocent. He advanced… traitorous claims in his petition. His death is regrettable however…” he kept on, such a long sentence draining his strength and Daera wondered how on earth he could still be alive, “However, I cannot grant your family reparation over the matter… The issue of the succession has been settled.”

It seemed like the Viserys wanted to continue, but nothing else came while Daera felt the two Velaryon men fidget frustratingly in their spot, the decision over the succession of Driftmark still carved in their skins like an insult, as an additional layer to their humiliation, to their loss.

Because they all knew the truth about Lucerys Velaryon.

“Your Grace, nothing in this had been dealt with fairness. Our cousin came with a viable claim, one that would spare our House from great humiliation,” continued Malentine, much more prone to anger than his counterpart. “Great insult had been inflicted to our House, to our name. And we have been punished for this. His wife and children have suffered as well,” he said, gesturing toward where you stood, “The Rogue Prince had no right to do justice himself while ours were violated without consequences!”

Nobody dared to speak while Viserys slightly straightened up in his chair, leaning on his cane. 

“And what… rights, have been violated exactly, my Lords? Corlys Velaryon is still your House’s Lord, and let him be found dead or alive, the matter is quite… clear. His grandson will inherit the Driftwood Throne, as Princess Rhaenys agreed to and as I reinstituted… Your cousin’s claim was moot from the start.”

Malentine was about to speak again, but the calmer and stronger voice of Gaemon came to drown it, “We concede to the contrary, your Grace. There is nothing moot in our late cousin’s claim, and we humbly demand that you reconsider what has previously been assessed. We came both to reiterate his petition to our own benefit, as well as justice to be done. If you do not plan to make his murderer answer for his crime, at least your Grace, grant us the seat of our House as reparation. Do what is right."

Daera braced herself as she felt her brother stiffen beside her. Once again, a petition had been stated, and once again, Lucerys Velaryon’s lineage was subtly put into question, and nothing about it pleased Viserys.

“Am I to understand… that you would put into question… my ruling? What has been decided? By your King?”

Alicent Hightower’s chest heaved as she took a sharp breath, eyes somewhere on the ceiling while her father seemed to be gauging Gaemon’s next action, hands tensely linked at his front. On the side, Aegon seemed to be far more entertained than he had been minutes before, brows raised in expectation slightly while next to him his brother wore a completely different expression. 

He had one side of his lip somewhat twisted upward, as if repressing a wry smile that Daera would have found quite enticing if it was in any other situation. His eye was darting from his father to Malentine, calmly examining their behaviours. Suddenly, as if he felt her staring, his gaze landed straight on her.

His smile dropped gradually, his chin turning completely toward her. She swallowed, the uneasy feeling at the back of her neck coming back, its warmth spreading to her cheeks as she held his gaze, unable to tear apart from it, as if stuck in a staring contest. The room became momentarily blurry around her while Gaemond answered the King, but she managed to only hear half of what he was saying. Aemond’s lilac eye, even from afar, felt like scrutiny, like he dared her into action, as if he could read all of her anguish and helplessness on her face. She wished she could do the same, but all she saw was his ardent gaze devouring her, features unmoving except from the subtle parting of his lips and her mind was instantly filled with the need to hear his voice, to know what he sounded like, memories of the man in the cloak so vividly imprinted in her. She avidly wanted to hear it, to finally link that stranger to the Targaryen looking at her.

"-for our House, for our blood. Your ruling cost my cousin’s head, as well as our legacy’s sake. You cannot expect us to remain silent while we are robbed of both justice and legacy. He may be your brother, but he cannot be discarded from punishment.”

“Vaemond Velaryon… uttered slanders against the Crown, put into question the integrity of-”

“And he had paid the ultimate price for that. Without a trial, only by the audacity of a man that had none to answer for, simply by telling the truth. Is that your justice? Is that how you have reigned all these years? Upon lies?”

Both Daera and Aemond reported their gaze back at Gaemon’s cold statement at the same time, an icy sensation filling her again as her mother clutched Daemion’s shoulder next to her, bringing him closer.

Viserys was silent for a long while, mouth open as ready to shout, “Lucerys Velaryon is heir to the throne, by blood. He is the grandson of Corlys Velaryon, rightful heir of Laenor Velaryon.”

Malentine inhaled sharply, carefully choosing his next words and frustrated by the King’s obstinacy. “You may think so, your Grace, but this boy cannot command the greatest fleet of Westeros. He cannot command all of the wealth of House Velaryon because it is not owed to him. He is already in line to the Iron Throne, then so be it!” he exclaimed, drawing both Alicent and Otto’s attention to him, “Let him covet your seat, but do let him out of the Driftmark’s succession, stop this masquerade and reinstitute a Velaryon on the Driftwood Throne.”

Many in the room started to whisper, but it died as soon as the strong panting breath of the King made itself heard again, “Owed?... Reinstitute? Lucerys Velaryon is the blood of Corlys Velaryon, and you wish to deny his claim?”

“My King, nothing in their claim-” advanced the Hand in an attempt to talk to the King.

“Is it my daughter you are speaking of, my Lord?” raged the King anew, leaning further on his cane.

Otto stopped in his tracks while Alicent inhaled sharply.

Daera observed his face and she could suddenly see the Great Hall of Nine, lit by many candles as the moon shone outside over the crashing waves, could see the King standing and shouting at the crowd around him while Aemond Targaryen’s eyelid was being sewn back, his blood dripping on the floor.

“And let it be known: anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

“No,” she breathed, taking an imperceptible step forward, fear clawing at her as she remembered the King’s threat. Only one soul had seen her and heard her, his lilac eye now looking at her frightened face.

Both Gaemon and Malentine had raised their chins in defiance as Viserys looked at them with utter disbelief, the Queen and the Hand powerless while Daera’s heart hammered in her chest. However, Gaemon, always level-headed, chose to tread carefully.

“I once again simply demand to be considered as heir to Driftmark and be granted the title upon my uncle’s unfortunate potential demise-”

“I WILL BE… ANSWERED!” shouted the King, his voice twisting into a shrilling sound that made everybody gasp, “Are you so naive as to state the same slanders your cousin spoke? Do you believe I did not hear it?”

“Nothing in Vaemond’s claims was slander, and it is great time that you acknowledge that, despite your obvious lack of sense of justice. Lucerys Velaryon shares no blood with us and I am tired of pretending otherwise.” 

As Malentine’s words resonated in the hall, a short silence lingered, and then it all went fast.

The White Cloaks surrounded both of them as Daera’s worst fears took form before her eyes. Viserys yelled orders to have their tongues removed as an armoured hand stopped her from going to her relatives. She could see Otto Hightower speaking hasty words to the King as Alicent brought a hand to her mouth. She saw Malentine’s sword being raised in the air before he was disarmed, Gaemon shouting at him to stand down.

Daera felt her insides twist in horror as she witnessed her great-cousins being dragged away unceremoniously, shouting their indignation, and only her mother’s pull on her arm made her realise that she had rushed to them in panic before a guard had managed to stop her course. But she didn’t yield into her mother’s touch, feeling that she was screaming but unable to hear herself among the mayhem that surrounded her. Soon other guards came to surround them upon seeing her tussle and she was immobilised. 

Daera thought for an instant that she would witness her great-cousin’s tongues be removed in front of her, right here on the pavement stone, but she quickly understood that they would be taken down below, in the Dungeon, leaving the Small Hall completely in disarray and rid of the last remnant of her father’s wishes.

Daemion was trembling, head buried in her mother’s robes while Viserys moaned in pain upon his chair, the Queen at his side who spoke to him with concern, urgency in her words. But Daera could not bear to look in this direction, numb to what this monarch represented while her family was humiliated once again, all for a matter of succession that went beyond her own House.

When she was finally forcefully led away from the room, she did not see the single eye that followed her out, fascinated.

Chapter 3

Thank you @babyblue711 & @arcielee for beta.

Taglist: @knightprincess@baconturtle@witheredoffherwitch@lexwolfhale @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy

[dudeshusband]

Title: Keep on Smilin'

Ship: Mike x Pete Nelson

Words: 760

Description: Safeshiptember day 18: smile.

The train chugged along on the rails, taking the circus to the next town. It was a warm night, and Pete leaned on the window, watching the trees zoom by in the dark. The moonlight bounced off the grease in Pete's hair, making it shine. His brown eyes twinkled like stars.

He had a gentle sort of smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners. It made his eyelids just a bit more puffy, adding to the beauty of his eyes. The wind blew his curls gently. Mike wished they could snap a picture then and there.

He reached into the pocket of his slacks, pulled out his carton of cigarettes and took one. Mike’s eyes followed his hand down to his hips as he did so, appreciating the way his slacks fit around his waist. Just a touch of tummy came forward through his slacks, making the fabric bend around it ever so slightly. This was Mike's favorite part.

He flipped the top of his lighter and lit the cigarette into a cupped hand. He took a long drag then blew out the smoke, sending it into the night air. He had a particular way of doing it: he always blew out of the side of his mouth. It made him look a bit silly for a moment but he always looked all the more pretty afterwards. They couldn't help but be mesmerized by the way he moved his mouth.

He continued to smoke his cigarette and stare at the moon. Mike couldn't bring themselves to interrupt him. They watched the twinkling in his eyes and the moving of his mouth. They watched his big hand move toward and away from his lips.

He stopped for a moment, just letting the cigarette burn in his hand. He flicked the ashes out the window.

He continued on like this for a while. Mike wondered if he might turn around and catch them staring.

He took his last drag eventually and threw the rest out of the window. He leaned against the window again with both arms. Their eyes were drawn to the tanned skin on the back of his neck, where his hair came down in a rounded square shape. They wanted to kiss the nape of his neck, but refrained so as to not scare him out of his skin.

His gentle smile returned to his face, once again illuminating his eyes.

“You're really pretty, you know that?” Mike asked suddenly.

Pete jumped a little and turned around. “How long have you been standin’ there?’”

Mike smiled. “Long enough.”

“You, uh, make a habit of watching guys smoke?”

Mike stared at him for an extended period of time.

“Just the handsome ones,” they said finally.

Pete smiled wider. “You enjoyed the view?”

“Immensely.”

He walked up and slid his arms around their waist. He slid his face into the crook of their neck. Mike could feel his heartbeat against their own. “It's pretty out tonight. The moon's full.”

“I know something else pretty,” Mike said, not feeling the need to elaborate.

Pete moved his head so he could nod and flash his signature grin. “I do too. Real pretty.”

Mike blushed. “I walked into that one, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you walked right into this,” Mike said, leaning in to kiss him. His lips were soft and warm. He tasted strongly like tobacco and the sandwich he'd had for dinner. They kissed him harder anyway, bringing a hand to gently scratch his scalp. He held them just a bit tighter.

He smiled into the kiss and savored every moment of it. When the kiss broke, he trailed gentle kisses along their chin. His lips tickled their skin and made them shiver.

“Can you do me a favor?” Mike asked.

“What's that?” he asked against their skin.

“Never stop smiling.”

He chuckled warmly. “As long as you're here, I have somethin’ to smile about.”

Mike ruffled his curls. “You're a big sap, you know that?”

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “But it's your fault. I'm in love with you.”

Mike kissed him again, softly this time.

“Do you love me too? Hm?”

He littered their neck with kisses.

“You know the answer to that.”

His lips ghosted over their neck. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Mike shivered again. Mike gazed into his eyes as he looked up, brown like melted milk chocolate.

“I love you. More than anything. You know that.”

He grinned again. “I sure do.”

The stood there for some time in each other's embrace, taking in each other's scents and heartbeats.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

I Will Find You in the Dark Ch. 5

Series Summary: Dean and Julie's story continues through turbulent times in the Winchester's life. Can Dean and Julie survive through it all? Can their love survive?

Chapter Summary: Julie and Sam have been looking for Dean for two months. What will happen when Julie finds him?

Pairings: Dean x OFC (Julie) Established Relationship

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence throughout. Smut throughout. More detailed chapter warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Show level violence, Demon!Dean (with all that his black eyes bring with them), mentions of smut, Demon!Dean being cruel for the fun of it, threatening behavior, mentions of pregnancy.

Word Count: 2,291

Series Masterlist

A/N:  The fifth chapter in the sequel to my fic, Green is My Favorite Color. I strongly suggest that you read that one first, since there will be references made to it throughout this sequel. Also, I suggest you read the Dean and Julie Mini-Series I wrote as a bridge between that fic and this one. (The Mini-series’ title is a bit of a spoiler for the original series, so I won’t post it here, but it can all be found here.) I had a lot of fun writing that original series, and the mini-series, and certainly hope those who read and enjoyed those, enjoy this sequel. 💓

The beautiful dividers below and at the end were created by @talesmaniac89. 💗 Title card was created by me.

Masterlist || Tag Lists

Despite the sun recently rising over the eastern horizon, the room was dark, the newborn sun unable to pierce through the drawn shades and smoke-glazed wooden walls of the ugly dive bar where Julie stood. The scent of old body odor mingled with the stench of stale beer and rotted wood to make her stomach churn.

She put one hand over her nose and the other over her almost non-existent baby bump as she attempted to keep the bile down. She pulled the neckline of her t-shirt up and ducked her nose inside, taking deep breaths through the cotton filter until her stomach calmed down. When she could breathe normally again she dropped her hands to her sides and started towards the cash register again.

When Crowley had given up Dean’s whereabouts, and told them to get the former hunter as far away from him as possible, he’d directed them to this bar, telling them that Dean was frequently a regular there. 

So, they’d staked out the place the night before, sitting for hours in the Impala watching the comings and goings of the patrons. 

Julie had been nervous the entire time, anxious and jumpy. This was the closest they'd come to finding Dean - the closest by a long shot- and the prospect of seeing him again had made her feel like she might jump out of her skin.

But Dean never showed. So, they’d gone back to the motel to get a few hours of sleep before starting the hunt again. However, after doing nothing but tossing and turning for hours, Julie had decided to go check out the bar when no one else was around. She was hoping that maybe, behind the counter, she could find a credit card receipt from one of his aliases, which might give them a possible phone number or address, if they could track his card.

She’d left Sam a note saying he could join her at the bar if he woke up, or else she’d be back in less than an hour. 

So now, as she tried to jimmy open the cash register, she heard the front door creak open and looked up, expecting to see Sam coming after her. 

Instead, a cry of surprise fell from her lips as Dean strolled through the door to stand tall and powerful-looking, across the room. 

Her desperate eyes took in every inch of him, especially his beautiful face; the face she’d seen smiling and laughing in her dreams every night over the last two months. She constantly dreamt of him coming home, of him being Dean again, the mark vanished - his soul his own once again. 

But now, as he stood in front of her, she knew none of that was true. This was Dean, and yet not. 

He wore a red work shirt over a black t-shirt and blue jeans. His hair was a bit longer and parted to the side. He wore a soft smile that just turned up the corners of his mouth, and that smile made her melt a little. Whatever darkness lingered under his skin, he was still so beautiful, and in spite of everything, Julie ached to see him again. 

“Hey, Jules.” He said, his voice silky.

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Dean.” She whispered.

“Whatcha doin’ here, kiddo?” He asked.

She bit into her lower lip before answering. “The same thing I’ve been doing for two months straight. Looking for you, of course.”

He shook his head. “Told you and Sammy to let me go, didn’t I?”

Julie swallowed down all the tears and the bitter anger she’d felt since the moment they’d found that note. “You know we can’t do that. You had to know we were going to look for you everywhere.”

Dean nodded and gave a low chuckle. “Well, you found me, sweetheart.” His warm smile chilled a fraction. “But you should have known better than to come alone.”

Julie felt icy fingers slide down her back and she swallowed hard and tried to bluff. “I’m not alone. Sam is keeping a lookout in the back.”

Dean’s smile disappeared and his gaze became laser focused on her. “No he isn’t.”

As she scrambled to come up with a lie or a way out, Dean took a few steps towards the bar that she was standing behind. She stepped away from the cash register, shifting towards the swinging doors to her right, that led to the back rooms and a possible exit. 

Dean shifted with her.

“So,” He began, but then he stopped talking and took a few steps closer to her. He cocked his head slightly and let his gaze sweep up and down her body. A look of surprise spread across his face for a moment before he shook his head.

“Well, son of a bitch.” He smiled a cold smile at her. “You’re knocked up.”

Julie’s heart beat triple time as he moved even closer. Only the bar separated them now, as they stood on either side of it. She had no idea how to respond.

Dean nodded his chin towards her belly. “Don’t bother trying to lie about it, I can hear the second heartbeat.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Is it mine? Or, uh,” He pushed his lips out and shrugged. “Maybe Sammy’s? What have you kids been up to while I’ve been away?”

Julie felt anger build and Dean laughed when he saw it, raising his hands in a mockery of surrender. “Hey, I’m just curious. I mean, for all I know, it might belong to some other demon spawn.” 

His face became calculating. “You know, I’ve wondered about that for a while now - just how many guys you spread it for while Abaddon was riding you. But,” He shrugged again, “I didn’t want to ask you before. I was worried it would hurt you to tell me.”

He let out a rough chuckle as though the idea of his concern for her was absurd to him now. He walked slowly around the end of the bar, and suddenly he was barely a dozen feet away from her, with nothing separating them. 

Julie took a step back, and he took two long strides forward, stalking her.

“So?” He asked, nodding towards her stomach.

Julie gritted her teeth and hung on to her anger to avoid the excruciating sadness of the moment. This was how Dean was learning he was going to be a father. This was the moment she’d wanted to be so perfect, now turned into a dismal nightmare. 

“It’s yours.” She croaked out through a tight throat. But as she said it, she realized it wasn’t true. The life she was growing and nurturing inside her body had absolutely nothing to do with the creature in front of her, who looked so much like Dean, and yet, wasn’t.

Dean grinned and nodded. “Huh…you didn’t answer the other part of my question though. How many guys did you and Abaddon fuck while you were away from me?”

Julie balled her hands into fists. “Go to hell.”

She glanced quickly behind her to gauge the distance to the swinging doors. She continued the conversation, hoping it might keep him busy and distracted. 

“I’ve never slept with anyone else, and Abaddon was a bit too busy trying to become queen to spend a whole lot of time scrolling dating apps.” She said sarcastically, making Dean smile again.

“Huh, so I’m really the only person you’ve ever slept with? Really? Even the times when I took off and left you behind, you never slept with anyone else?” 

Julie didn’t answer, just inched ever closer to the doors behind her.

Dean licked his lips. “Well, I guess after you’ve had the best, why try the rest, right?” He nodded and then stopped advancing towards her to lean his hip against the bar and cross his arms over his chest. 

“I get it. I really do. I mean, it’s the same with me.” He paused for a beat and then dragged in a breath, shaking his head wistfully. “No matter how many women I’ve fucked in the last two months, I just can’t seem to get your hot, ripe, little body out of my mind.”

Julie gasped as though a bucket of ice had been thrown over her. She felt like a vice was squeezing her heart and lungs together so she couldn’t breathe; her chest felt constricted, crushed. Once again, she felt like she was going to be sick.

She watched the look of victory enter Dean’s gaze and realized that he was taking great pleasure in knowing his words had had their intended effect, causing a ripping pain to rush through her. She closed her eyes as tears filled them, and she couldn’t stop them from spilling down her cheeks, no matter how desperately she wanted to. 

When she opened her eyes she gasped again because Dean was suddenly mere inches in front of her, somehow moving utterly silently in the span of a few breaths. He raised his fingers to grasp her chin, rubbing his thumb over her lower lip. The gesture was familiar enough to raise butterflies in her stomach, but the butterflies were so unwanted that she felt sick again. 

He put his hands to her waist and pushed her backwards until she bumped into the wall behind her. The swinging doors were less than two feet to her right, and she tried to focus on them, and on how to extricate herself from Dean’s unyielding grip. Power rolled off of him in waves, a kind of menacing, dangerous energy that surrounded him and made Julie want to scream in fear. 

But she held onto her wits even as he leaned into her, inhaling deeply and then setting his lips against her ear. “God, I have missed you, Jules.” 

His voice was a low rasp, and combined with his hard body pressed against her, Julie’s mind was overflowing with conflicting feelings. She’d missed him so much, that to feel him close again was making her knees slightly weak. But there was a bitter taste in her mouth that reminded her that this man was not Dean, that his soft, plush lips may be familiar, but they dripped poison.

“You know what I was thinking about the other day?” He asked her as he let his forefinger trace along the neckline of her t-shirt. “Purgatory.” He looked deep into her eyes and Julie was mortified to find that the heat and desire she saw in his gaze still caused her stomach muscles to clench. 

“Mmm, yeah.” He purred. “Do you remember how you were there? What you let me do to you? Mm? Do you remember?” His teeth tugged on her earlobe briefly and Julie gasped.

With a dark chuckle he continued. “Yeah, I remember too. I remember the way you let me take you, like an animal.” He suddenly grabbed both her wrists and slammed them against the wall beside her head. “You were just a bitch in heat, and fuck, I filled you so good.”

Julie’s fear finally won out, and she began struggling against the vice-like grip he had on her, but Dean just laughed. 

“Aw, you seem afraid, Jules. But you told me once that there was nothing I could do to make you afraid of me.”

Julie stopped struggling, her breathing ragged as she looked up into Dean’s beautiful emerald eyes. They were filled with heat and malice and the sight made her shake her head.

“No, you’re right.” She said, panting slightly. “I could never, ever be afraid of Dean.” She jutted her chin forward in defiance and spoke quietly. “But you are not Dean.”

An ominous gleam came into Dean’s gaze before a quick blink replaced every spec of green with the oily black slick of his demon eyes. He flashed his bright white smile as a horrible contrast to his sinister stare. “You’re right there, sweetheart, I’m a whole new man.”

As he leaned forward, seemingly intent on reaching her mouth, Julie brought her knee up as hard as she could between his legs. With a scream of pain, he staggered back, dropping his hold on her. 

Julie didn’t waste a second, immediately sprinting to the right and running through the doors into the back of the bar. She saw an exit sign through a pile of boxes that blocked her way. She began tossing them aside, but before she could get through them all, Dean grabbed hold of her arms from behind and hauled her up against his chest.

“That was a dirty trick, Jules.” He breathed roughly into her ear. “But if you want dirty, well, I’ve got lots of tricks to play too, sweetheart.”

She lifted her booted foot, intending to stomp on his instep, when suddenly she heard him scream again and felt water splash against her cheek. He dropped his hands from her and she spun around in time to see him fall to his knees as one side of the demon handcuffs closed around his right wrist.

Sam was struggling to bring Dean’s left hand close enough to get the cuffs on properly. Julie stooped quickly to pick up the flask of holy water where Sam had dropped it, and threw another generous splash into Dean’s face. 

The demon roared in monstrous anger, but Sam managed to get the other band around his brother’s wrist. “It’s over, Dean.” He yelled at him. “This is over.”

Julie was shaking and more grateful than ever to see her brother-in-law. But she had to wonder, as Dean growled up at him again, harsh and menacing, pure rage sufficing his face, whether in fact, things had just begun. 

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @nt-multi-fandom @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @saikosheadcanons @lgranger67 @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @sunshineandwings86 @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @awkward-and-indecisive @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @b3autyfuldisast3r @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @mysherlock221b @jensensgotyoudean @stixnstripesworld @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @norman1967 @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @b-i-t-c-h-i-e @twirpbunwarrior @mysweetlittledesire @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

[ethanhuntfemmefatale]

collateral: thoughts on vincent

i want to write this out because i want to have it on my blog, it's on my mind and i want to get it out of there and into words. and also see what others think if anybody wants to give their opinion. my feelings about this are coming from a personal place--im not identifying a flaw with a text, im identifying a problem that I have with it. the movie works. it's a lot more effective and cohesive because of the choices it makes that bother me. anyway let's get into it

I'm frustrated by vincent's death in collateral. to preface:

collateral has a rich thematic framework and presents a lot of interesting ideas. vincent's death serves nearly all of them. it's set up neatly in the very beginning, it becomes inevitable when he and max are set against each other; it works with collateral's ideas of characters who die because they were doing their job, not as a moral statement, simply as a fact of being in the wrong situation on the wrong night with the wrong people. vincent is a mechanism of meaningless death, and his own death emphasizes that he was only ever a mechanism. not all powerful, or completely in control. just another guy doing his job who nobody will miss or remember (except the guy who killed him, a mercy and respect that the events of the movie afford vincent, that he wouldn't have gotten otherwise.) I also think vincent's death cements the bottleneck nature of the movie. a sequence of horrifying events happen to max through the night, but with vincent's death, they end. and max is left to grapple with the effects on him for an off-screen lifetime. Also, I appreciate that for all its fascination with the figure of Vincent, the movie keeps Max as its emotional center. the events of the movie are ultimately for Max, to serve his arc. Vincent is a vehicle for max's character development, and max killing him is the culmination of that.

It all works. I'm sure there are many other threads it fulfills that im not mentioning or that i didn't pick up on in first watch. it's effective, it's emotionally powerful, it's interesting. my issue with it is this:

as much as collateral is a movie about a lot of different things--as much as collateral is not necessarily ostensibly a movie about being able to witness the twisted inner workings of a dangerous and irredeemable character--a lot of collateral is built on the fascination of being able to witness the twisted inner workings of a dangerous and irredeemable character. the movie treats vincent like a zoo animal. there's a constant push/pull, sympathy and connection battling with reminders of vincent's dangerousness, encouraging audiences to connect with him, but not too much. that tension, the thrill of finding yourself in a character that is evil in a way you never will be, is a big part of what makes vincent work. it's a freakshow: allowing the audience to observe a figure who is subversive, threatening, frightening, from the safety of a movie that keeps its moral lines pretty carefully drawn. The setup of the freakshow relies on Vincent being subhuman. His crimes are drawn to make him subhuman in an undeniable way. He's only interesting if he exists far outside the bounds of respectability and the moral framework of the movie. And if, while existing in his position of unacceptability, Vincent is treated as fully human in the way of other characters, the moral security of the movie becomes destabilized. The tourism effect of the freakshow disappears, because the emotional arm's length, the push and pull effect of fascination and fear, disappears. He becomes real. Audiences are no longer protected by knowledge of their own safety from Vincent's evil, both from becoming him and from being harmed by the danger he represents.

This is a very strange comparison to make to a movie about a hitman and a taxi driver...but it's coming up in my mind so i might as well write it out. I don't fully remember the article but I remember being impacted strongly by an article I read about Robert Mapplethorpe, the legendary queer photographer, and his work showcasing the gay BDSM community. The article was talking about the ways in which that community had been portrayed before: the figures in the photographs exaggeratedly inhuman, perverse, fascinating. Mapplethorpe was so controversial, and so powerful, because he portrayed the figures of his photographs as people. Smiling, or looking at the camera defiantly, posed in ways they liked, purposefully and carefully breaking down the barrier of the freakshow. Forcing people who looked at his work to confront the reality of the figures in it, and everything that their reality and their humanity represented.

Watching Collateral, as much as I felt the logic and inevitability and weight of Vincent's death, and as much as Vincent didn't ostensibly die as a moral indictment, I couldn't help but feel that he had to die for more reasons than thematic or plot or character fulfillment. I felt that he had to die in order to reassure the audience, and in order to keep the moral lines drawn, as to who is human, who isn't. I keep getting stuck on the fact that Max kills Vincent in order to escape with his heterosexual love interest. Vincent isn't queer-coded in the conventional sense (style of dress, behavior) but he is queer-coded in the sense of his role as an outsider, someone inherently unacceptable to society, a predator walking invisibly among normal people, a shocking and dismaying figure, who "jokes" about murdering his own father while Max goes to visit his mother in the hospital despite their troubled relationship.

Ultimately, my problem with the movie is not a real problem, because this movie is not trying to be the kind of movie that treats a hitman like a human. And it is bound by the Hays Code in the same invisible way that nearly all media is. I don't fault the movie for making the choices it did, I really think they work. I just take issue with the freakshow. It's not the kind of narrative that sits well with me, despite the fact that it is undeniably a good movie. I didn't like the feeling of being in an audience that is expected to react to Vincent with fascinated horror, and I didn't like the emotional distance the movie wanted me to keep, and I didn't like that his death was supposed to be tragic, but acceptable, even comforting.

Those are my thoughts! I did love the movie.

[thanks--for--listening]

divine monstrosity

Chapter 4: Beatrice

yes yes I know it’s late but at least its here! final chapter and its my favorite dynamic so far. 

also on ao3. (chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3)

~~

“I’m almost me again / she’s almost you.”

— almost, hozier

If she’d still had the ability to sleep, Lilith knew the sight would haunt her; as it was, she only saw it when she stopped moving, when her body paused just long enough for her mind to take advantage. 

Keeping busy was easy during the daylight. There was nowhere for ghosts to hide, and there was much to do. Images she didn’t want to see were held at bay, restrained by the sheer amount of energy that went into everything else. 

It was the night that brought complications.

Days had passed since the portal — how many exactly, she wasn’t sure. But the moon hung proudly in the sky, and she could feel the pull as strongly as if she were the tide. 

She always followed, mostly because she knew it belonged to her. The tug. The need to be in that room, even for a few minutes. No deity was influencing her to do their bidding. Not with this.

Her room was dark when she entered, phasing into the corner she knew to be empty. With the moonlight coming through the window, she could just make out the shape of her body asleep on the bed. 

Lilith wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was waiting for. Why she kept coming here. It wasn’t as if she had nothing else to occupy her time — unlike before, she was burdened with knowledge, with foresight and memories that her brain was still struggling to piece together. She had tasks to complete. Voices to ignore. There was no reason for her to stand here, in the dark, watching like—

“You don’t have to keep doing this.”

A weaker person may have been startled. But she had been conditioned to never reveal when she was caught off guard. To never allow someone to know they had the upper hand. To never give it up in the first place. There were only a few people who still managed to surprise her, and she was staring at one of them. 

Beatrice’s eyes remained closed for another moment, before she opened them. There was no judgment in her gaze. No anger, either. Just calm, as if Lilith’s presence was expected. As if it was normal. Not many people looked at her and saw normalcy anymore. 

Lilith stepped slightly out of the shadows. “I know.”

In the silence, she saw it again, a flicker that disappeared as soon as a shadow crossed her face. Beatrice pushed herself up into a sitting position, and although Lilith still towered over her, they felt more on even ground. 

“At least you’re brief,” Beatrice conceded. “Camila won’t stop doting.”

The corners of her lips tugged up, just slightly, before she remembered that Camila hadn’t seen her since her many transformations. Would she still approach her with tenderness when she witnessed the monstrosity she’d become? 

“She asked about you,” Beatrice said, reading her mind for the second time in as many minutes. 

“What did you tell her?”

“That you’re…different, now.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Not all of us have wings.”

Lilith shrugged. “Ava took the halo, I had to adapt.”

For a few seconds, Beatrice smiled, and everything was exactly as it used to be. When Beatrice had first arrived at Cat’s Cradle, she’d been drawn to her immediately. Like recognized like, and she was so clearly a kindred spirit. Someone who understood discipline. Another warrior who valued hard work with the same ferocity that she did, who had ambitions that complimented rather than competed with hers. Someone who spoke her language, who could handle her intensity and her icy looks and the empty space where her heart was meant to be. 

The reality of Ava’s absence crept in quickly, snuffing the humor out too soon. For an instant, Lilith came face to face with the very image she’d sought to avoid, before Beatrice schooled her features into compliance. 

Even if she hadn’t slipped, it wouldn’t have mattered. The way she’d stared up at her, standing in front of the vacant Arc, hands empty and words spoken too late, was burned into the back of her eyelids. She felt the heat of it as intensely as she had when Adriel had gifted her Sight. She needed no reminders, no triggers, to see it again.

“Have you…I mean, can you tell if…if she…”

“No, I can’t.”

Beatrice nodded, biting her bottom lip. 

Neither of them spoke. The quiet crept in quickly. Silence unburdened by voices used to unsettle her. Lilith had thought herself weak then, constantly falling victim to derailing glimpses into the past, each one intent on leading her to distraction, to ruin. 

She’d thought it was someone else’s doing. The influence of whatever being she’d come into contact with on the other side. In reality, the absence of direction had simply driven her mind to desperation. It was she — her own wretched brain — who had filled the gaps with memories. He had taught her that. 

It stopped once she’d joined his side, once she’d succumbed completely to the voice in her head, the one that returned after Jillian’s experiment. But now they were warring, the voices and the memories, each fighting for ownership of her limbs and mind, her conscious and unconscious. 

In an effort to hold onto herself, to not become a tool at something else’s disposal, she’d stopped fighting the urge to look back. It had left her burdened with flashes of the life she’d once led, with no way of filtering which moments she witnessed. 

She’d never considered how much suffering she’d endured. She saw her childhood, heard her mothers demands and felt the consequences of her own failures as if she was reliving them. Mary getting dragged under a pile of bodies while she phased away unharmed. Beatrice’s face at the Arc. Ava’s screams as her knife slid into her back. 

They built on top of one another, growing heavy with fear and fury and regret. There were days when Lilith doubted she’d have the strength to carry them all. But the pain helped keep her focus on her past life rather than give in to the future something else wanted from her. It could kill her, so long as she died herself. Not a slave to someone else’s bidding. 

Like clockwork, treasured moments of relief came just as she feared she was reaching her limit. Days spent in Cat’s Cradle with Beatrice, Mary, and Shannon. Nights as a child creeping out of bed, finding glimpses of joy away from watchful eyes. Training with Mother Superion and beating the shit out of a newly haloed Ava. Camila at the piano. 

So many of her thoughts led her back here. Like a shadow she couldn’t shake, Cat’s Cradle was where her mind went when it had nowhere else to go. There was a reason it was where she’d phased to upon reentry. A reason she’d come back after her first massacre. 

Despite the blood that soaked through to her skin, the wound that refused to flake away, and her failure at apprehending Vincent, her first instinct had brought her here. She’d materialized into the courtyard, unconcerned with appearances or judgment — she’d just wanted to go home. 

The place had been clearly abandoned. She’d walked the halls frantically, finding no evidence of what happened, no indication of where survivors — if there were survivors — may have gone. Camila. Mother Superion. The other sisters. They’d vanished. 

Panic threatened to set in, but an odd sense of calm had washed over her. She couldn’t find them until she fixed her shoulder, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her own had whispered. Better to handle one problem before moving onto the next. 

Something had felt wrong, though. She didn’t want to be fixed — she wanted to feel safe. So she’d tried again, another version of home, and part of her knew she wouldn’t find the feeling there, but the desperation was hard to resist. She’d spent a lifetime searching for it in those walls, trying to earn it with awards and accolades. That desire wasn’t something she could simply turn off. 

When she’d stormed out, when the rage had run its course and forged another new path in her heart, the voice beckoned again. Despite the fact that it sounded less like her and more like a stranger, she complied. Went to Jillian. Received the message from the others soon after. But by that point, the fearlessness and desperation that had led her to Cat’s Cradle had dissipated. In its place, she’d found a fierce determination: when she saw them again, she would be coming to their aid. They needed her to answer the call. To protect them from whatever had sent her team running. And when she did, she refused to be broken. 

The portal changed everything. Even now, her memories of it were brief. Long hours under an unforgiving sun. Faces that flashed by too quickly for her mind to hold onto them. Voices coming from somewhere she could not see, making decisions she had no input in. Decisions about her.

Everything got fuzzier once she came back. For months, she had longed for the sound of someone offering a command, a direction to take. When the voice returned, beckoning her to his side, she relented. In truth, she reveled in it. It had not led her astray before — if it needed her at his side, then that was exactly where she’d go. 

The cost of listening was greater than she’d ever have anticipated. 

“Where has your mind gone?” Beatrice‘s voice broke through the reverie. Lilith blinked a few times, until the bedroom and her friend's face came back into focus.

“Nowhere.”

“I know what you look like when you’re lost in thought. All that silver can’t hide you from me.”

Denying anything was fruitless. Beatrice would see right through her, as she already had. 

“I keep going back to one moment,” she told her, inching closer to delicate territory. The more she spoke, the more likely it would lead to conversations she wasn’t sure she was prepared to have. And yet, she kept talking. Not through another’s will being imposed on her, but because she chose to. It was easier to speak when she knew the words no longer belonged to someone else. 

“I wonder,” Lilith continued, “whether it may have changed everything, had it gone differently. Had I…”

“I know what you mean.” Her face remained steady, her tone unwavering, but Lilith could feel the shift, the emotion that most would never notice. “I keep imagining what might have happened,” Beatrice continued, “if we’d only walked away when he showed up. If he’d still be alive if we had. If she’d still be here.”

It took her a second to draw the connection. The Salvius boy. He’d been largely irrelevant to her, a blip in her radar. An obstacle to be removed. 

She didn’t remember pulling his heart out of his body. She knew she’d done it, but it was as if she was watching it through a haze, puppet master pulling the strings so completely that the motions themselves didn’t feel like they belonged to her at all. 

Part of her felt the need to apologize, but how could she explain her callousness? Her disregard for him even now, when she felt grounded in herself? He wasn’t one of them. He didn’t matter. And he was always going to die.

At least, that’s what she’d been told. The voice had called him a problem. A threat. It was only after, when the portal had closed, that she’d questioned who it was that he was a danger to.

“What about you? Which moment won’t let you rest?”

Before, she would have rather someone killed her than admit to any weakness; now that she had actually experienced death, she knew there were worse things than vulnerability. 

“I kept expecting one of you to come looking for me,” Lilith confessed. “At the lab. At Adriel’s. I’d find myself staring at the door, waiting for someone to bust it open and demand I return.” 

Beatrice’s face tightened, the pain present in every line. It was a bit of an unfair ask. She’d known something had happened, something catastrophic enough to send them into hiding, but she’d still thought that perhaps she was valuable enough to warrant a rescue attempt. An asset worth fighting for, if not a sister worth protecting. 

“When nobody did,” she continued, “it felt easier to stay. Harder to fight against the pull that I knew, deep down, didn’t belong to me.” She hoped her words sounded more like a justification than an excuse, although she hardly intended them as either. It was simply the truth. “I’m not sure who I’d be now if I hadn’t gone down that path.”

“We tried. After we regrouped, we tracked you to Jillian’s. Camila was furious that she’d let you leave when you were…not yourself. Made quite the scene on your behalf.”

The image of Camila scolding Doctor Salvius made the corners of her lips inch up, just slightly, before she remembered where she’d gone next. “And after that?”

“After that, things got…complicated. I think we all just figured wherever you were, you could handle it.”

The ache of incompetence crept in, doubt not far behind. Was it trust they’d had in her, or disregard? Had she failed them, or had they failed her?

“I’m sorry, Lilith.” She looked up, and for the first time all night, Lilith didn’t have to search to find what she was feeling. The guilt and sorrow were presented openly, blatantly, obviously. “We should have done more. We should have seen…I should have seen that you needed us. I was distracted, and I let you down.”

It was what she’d longed to hear. That she was right. That they’d left her, abandoned her at her greatest moment of need. That it was not her fault she’d turned into a creature so unearthly that all her years in service of god had been reduced to ash.

But now, hearing the words, seeing the regret on Beatrice’s face, she didn’t feel the triumphant sense of vindication. She felt exactly the same as that moment at the Arc, when she’d watched Beatrice flinch away, unsure if Lilith was friend or foe: ashamed. 

All she’d wanted to do was fulfill her duty and help her friends. She’d died for it. She’d spent months lamenting on the inequity of it all, the lack of fairness in her sacrifice being for naught, consumed by fear and anger that she pretended weren’t there. And what had she received in return? Where had it led her?

In a way, she felt as though she’d ended up exactly where she’d started a few months ago. Her feelings still felt too heavy to handle, her mind constantly slipping away. She had no home. No sisterhood. And yet she knew, deep in her core, that she had changed yet again. And while it couldn’t be worse than who she’d been at his side, she wasn’t sure if it could ever make up for all the damage she’d left in her wake.

She’d given herself completely to the man who’d killed Mary. Lilith may have deserved an apology, but she was beginning to believe she owed one as well.

“You were in love,” She finally responded. “As far as distractions go, I suppose that’s a worthy one.”

Beatrice shook her head. “I wasn’t—that’s not—“

“You can lie to yourself and everyone else if you’d like, but you can’t lie to me.”

It was as if her words set something in motion, because the tears in Beatrice’s eyes appeared instantly. The sight was rare, though growing more common with each passing day, something else Lilith knew she could take ownership of. 

The helplessness returned. Her strongest friend was falling apart, and Lilith had no idea how to piece her back together. All she had to offer was herself, and it was not enough.

If Ava were here, she’d kill her for putting that look on Beatrice’s face, and then let her heal so she could do it all over again. She’d yell and swear and embarrass herself all in the name of bringing a smile back to Beatrice’s face. And her effort wouldn’t even matter, because the simple act of being by her side would fix what Lilith helped to destroy. Mary had been right all along — she could train and study her entire life, and it wouldn’t change the fact that Ava had heart. Lilith did not. After her trip to the other side, Lilith suspected she never would. 

“I miss her,” Beatrice whispered, her voice raw and fragile, another anomaly to add to the list.

In an instant, she was back at the Arc, Ava disappearing to the other side. The side only she knew about. Beatrice had looked up at her, eyes begging for any kind of relief, and Lilith had nothing to give. 

It wasn’t just the desperation in her gaze that had left her haunted by that moment — it was the fact that, as soon as the portal closed, she’d felt the words echo in the back of her mind, in a voice that was not her own: well done. 

All the pain she’d caused. All the damage she’d done. The heartbreak on her face, and Lilith couldn’t say with confidence that she knew why it had to happen. Whose orders she was operating under. Her eyes may have been enlightened, but in all the ways that mattered, she’d been blind. 

“She’ll come back.” Lilith said. Her words were calm, her voice emotionless to anyone who didn’t know her. But Beatrice had always heard what she could not say.

“How do you know?”

“Because she has to.”

If she found any fault in the logic, she didn’t speak on it. 

The dreaded silence returned, except it wasn’t exactly quiet. If there was anything she’d learned in the past few months, it was that the world was still alive at night, still very much in motion. It was just harder to hear. The insects communicated in hushed tones. A handful of birds still spoke, undeterred by the late hour. The wind created all sorts of sounds, from the rustling of leaves to the rattling of windows. Like an orchestra, each element came together to form something cohesive. Something beautiful.

She glanced to her right, noticed the slight gap above the windowsill. Just enough room for sound to sneak in. Lilith didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed it earlier, couldn’t be sure whether it was for her sake or Beatrice’s, but either way, it served as a balm to the harsh reality of their individual sorrows. 

She turned her attention back toward the bed in time to catch Beatrice’s failed attempt at holding back a yawn. Her eyes were drooping, shoulders sagging. Despite her best efforts, exhaustion could only be delayed, not denied.

Lilith was the only enemy it seemed to lose to. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she was the exception. The night may be awake, but most people were not meant to hear its symphony. 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Lilith said, preparing herself to go anywhere else. “I should let you sleep.”

“I can’t.” The words came quickly, like a secret that snuck out before its time. Lilith looked at her, watched as she closed her eyes and took a break before continuing.

“In Switzerland,” she explained, “we shared everything. An employer. An apartment. A bed.” At the sight of her eyebrow rising, Beatrice added, “I balked at the thought of it initially. The…impropriety. But Ava refused to let me sleep on the couch.” 

She fought off the smirk. Ava was smoother than she’d given her credit for.

“I worried that it would be uncomfortable, or awkward. But Ava has a way of finding joy in everything, in making the most mundane prospects seem like thrilling adventures.” Beatrice chuckled as she added, “She said it would be like a sleepover every night.”

“Of course she did.”

It didn’t take long before her smile faded and her eyes shifted out of focus. “The bed feels too lonely now. Too big. Every night I dread the sight of the sun setting. Every morning I turn to my right, expecting to see her sprawled out next to me. All I ever find are cold and empty sheets. The wrongness of it all is….” She shook her head. “You apologized for waking me. But the reason I knew of your visits is because I can’t sleep without her. Two months, and my body no longer remembers a lifetime of solitude.”

The anguish is palpable. It’s suffocating. More than that, it’s familiar. 

Mary had always been the protector of their group. It was one of the things she’d admired and envied most about her. Lilith knew the feeling, but her instinct had never looked right, had always come through in disguise, so as not to reveal whom she valued enough to save. All this time on her own had left that feeling mangled, caught up in the twisted efforts of him and whoever had brought her to his side. She’d thought she was protecting them by following commands. All she’d done was cause more pain.

She had never known how to fix herself. How to heal wounds she could feel but not see. Not before her death and certainly not after. But if she could just help her friends, if she could rid them of the feeling she knew all too well, then perhaps her own pain would have a purpose. If she could protect Beatrice from the betrayal of her heart, it may make up for the absence of her own.

The answer was clear: she needed to find a way to bring Ava back, and to prepare the world for the battle she’ll be walking into. That was how she fixed it. But right now, a simpler, more temporary solution would have to suffice.

“Scooch over,” Lilith sighed as she slowly stepped forward. She spoke it as a command, but part of her still waited for the recoil. The revulsion. 

It never came. Instead, Beatrice just nodded and shifted to her left. 

She quickly removed her shoes before lifting the covers and laying down next to her. The bed didn’t offer a ton of space, just the smallest sliver keeping their arms apart, but she found comfort in it regardless. 

The phenomenon shouldn’t have been new to her. She spent her entire childhood attending private catholic boarding schools. Bed sharing was a long-standing ritual that many of the other girls had partaken in, despite the rules against it. But she’d never been invited to join. Never trusted anyone enough to allow them into her most vulnerable, private space. 

Lilith finally understood the appeal. Lying side by side, facing the dark of night alongside her, it was so much easier to dismiss the thoughts that argued she’d be locked in loneliness forever. There was evidence she could point to with the simple turn of her head to show that, at least for now, she was not alone. 

“Can I ask you something?” They were both still staring at the ceiling when Beatrice broke the silence. 

“Of course.”

“You always come in the middle of the night, but you never stay. Not even in your own room. Why?”

From the moment she first spoke tonight, Lilith suspected this question was coming. Answering was easier in this position, when she could confess without having to face scrutiny. 

“I can’t anymore. Sleep. Rest. My body doesn’t remember how, either.”

Beatrice took no more than a beat to process the words. Lilith wondered if she’s already figured them out. If her answer was merely confirmation. She’d always had a way of seeing through her, of catching what she thought was hidden in plain sight. It was another reason they’d worked so well together — she saw what Lilith never would. 

“I’m sorry this has happened to you,” Beatrice responded. Lilith felt her body turn, but she kept her eyes glued to the ceiling. “I’m not sure if I ever said that.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been difficult. I hate to watch you suffer. I hate not knowing how to help. Neither our scripture nor our history prepared us for something like this.”

“You mean they don’t warn about scales and wings in the story of Jesus’s resurrection?”

“They fail to mention that part, no.”

“Well then, I will be filing a complaint with the church for false advertising.”

Beatrice chuckled, and Lilith wondered if it wouldn’t be too hard to make room in her newfound plan, to add regularly hearing that sound to her long lists of tasks to accomplish.

Something else has to come first, though. She knew what she was meant to do, but the words still seized up, getting stuck in her throat until she nearly choked on them. Part of her wanted to bury the sentiment and their shame forever, but if Beatrice could admit to her shortcomings and give her an apology, the least she could do was return the favor. 

Lilith took a breath. “For what it’s worth—“

“I know.”

She finally turned, leaning back slightly so she could see her face. “You know?”

“You don’t have to say it. It’s okay.”

It was not. Okay only existed in her memories, in moments she could look back on. Atonement was what she had now, and it started with words she’d never liked to say. Words she knew were owed.

“I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done. And for what I may still have to do.”

Beatrice broke the threshold between them, grabbing her hand without hesitation. If she feared the claws that hid beneath, she didn’t show it. “Just promise me that whatever comes next, we end up on the same side.”

“I can’t—“

“No. I don’t care about your ominous warnings. You are still my sister, Lilith. I will not fight against you. So promise me that you will not fight against me. We face the future together.”

If she were a stronger person, she would tell her that she may not have the luxury of picking a side. That the warring inside her head, the voices arguing over her fate on the other side, may once again prove to be more than she can handle. It was why she had to lay the groundwork now, travel in the shadows and cross lines without hesitation. Unlike the war that awaited them, her fight would not be holy.

But Beatrice called her sister. She saw every depraved part of her, and still wanted her by her side. That, more than any ability she may have developed, was truly, biblically, miraculous.

“Okay,” she said. “Together.” She silently prayed — to whom exactly, she was unsure — that it was not a lie.

Beatrice exhaled, before turning onto her back. From this position, she could practically hear her heartbeat. The sound calmed her, eased her mind in a way she hadn’t felt since before her rebirth. Everything that was coming, everything that had to be done, it could all wait a few hours. She was in charge of her mind and body, at least for now. 

It didn’t take long for Beatrice’s breathing to even out. She knew she wouldn’t drift off, couldn’t give in to unconsciousness, but she closed her eyes anyway. Lilith may not have been able to sleep, but perhaps she hadn’t yet lost the ability to dream.

[neriyon]

And the last ship meme! Template once again here. (edit: I forgor to mention but mine is edited a little!)

This time it's ancient trio time~ ShB/Endwalker spoilers and lots of rambling under the cut

I'll start with mentioning that Eleos is Azem and Hawu'li is his shard. I think I've posted what he vaguely looks like in form of a picrew pic buuuut uh, this time you get a quick little scribble of his mask I drew instead.

Height and age - yeah no, I did not want to fuck with trying to choose anything for them since ancient world works weirdly. They are all of similar ages and fairly young, Hades has just aged a lot due to having to deal with his husbands lol. He's tallest of the three, with Eleos being just a tiny bit shorter than Hyth.

Jock - game keeps saying Emet is "the greatest mage" but honestly I could not mark him as nerd when he swings that huge drk sword so effortlessly in Ktisis. So to me he is also physically strong. Hyth is nerd on account of working basically a desk job and complaining how he doesn't usually fight, even if using a bow logically makes him somewhat buff too.

Affection - Hades is tsun so no pda. Hyth is used to this and knows not to tease him too much. Eleos does not care and teases both of them mercilessly with his affection, regardless of where they are or who is watching.

Confessions - Hyth and Hades were an item even before meeting Eleos, and their thing started from Hades managing to voice his feelings (Hyth had known about them already, but wanted to hear him say it). With Eleos, they kinda confessed together, with Hyth once again pushing Hades to admit his feelings out loud. By this point Eleos has been saying he loves them both for like, literal months but somehow also never initiated anything? Even Hyth was kinda confused if it was more plationical or not lol.

Kiss - Hades kisses both of them first: Hyth during a really sweet and romantic moment as teens, and Eleos to shut him up. Which surprisingly worked, as Eleos just kinda froze and was unable to process any thoughts for like half an hour. It has not worked ever since.

Propose - Hades is the most easily jealous one, so he really wanted something to seal the fact that they were all bound to eachother. All 3 have matching earring. Eleos also got a tiny magic circle drawn on his ringfinger - Emet's magic, made to contain both his and Hyth's essence to help calm Eleos down (he's strongly affected by feelings of others). It's usually invisible, but glows softly purple when touched.

Other stuff:

Hades and Eleos are both really stubborn so Hyth has to act as mediator between them

Hades first noticed Eleos from his soul (mix of orange and purple hues, like a really vibrant sunrise) which was so out of normal it got his attenttion in a big crowd (and Eleos did something really stupid right after so it really was unforgettable lol)

Eleos has a habit of just. Leaving in the middle of night if his wanderlust happens to hit. He's gotten really good at sneaking out and only leaving small "gone travelling, see you" note behind.

As a countermeasure, both Hyth and Hades sleep holding him really tight so he can't just dissappear to god knows where. Eleos doesn't seem to mind too much (but still manages to escape some nights)

All 3 spoil eachother so much but in completely different ways.

Emet overlooks so much of his husbands' mischief and no matter how busy, is always ready to give them his time if they want it

Hyth brings the other 2 interesting concepts from work as gifts

Eleos brings them whatever he find on his travels. He's especially good at picking things that pacify Hades' anger when he's done something stupid again.

[rereadanon]

tag game tuesday thursday: fandom edition! ✨

thanks for the tags, friends @celestialmickey, @gallawitchxx, & @michellemisfit! I need something to absolutely keep me from my responsibilities and that is not sarcasm!

your name: Anna

your age: I was born in the 1980's baby

your first fandom(s): Shameless

your current fandom(s): Shameless

how did you first get into fandom? I saw a Buzzfeed about best tv proposals which immediately led me to YouTube which led me to begin a full binge of Shameless on Netflix right before the pandemic. Then the Pandy started and oh my goodness I needed some new coping mechanisms and I had finished my binge but I needed MORE IAN AND MICKEY so I googled fanfic and read and read. Then I stalked some tumblrs and I finally broke down and made one on 8/17/2021 and here I am!

how long have you been engaging with fandom spaces? like I just said 😇

how often do you read fanfics? As much as possible, but at least every night in bed

top 3 characters from your current fandom(s): Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher, and Sandy Milkovich

have you ever written a fic for a fandom? if so, shout it out! Yes, yes, my lil ficlet Friday bbs AO3 I definitely promise more in the future!

have you ever drawn fanart for a fandom? if so, drop a link! No, but I want to!

share a personal headcanon that you feel very strongly about: Look, Mickey and Sandy, and probably Tami are really serious about their RuPaul's Drag Race watch dates. Ian is not allowed! Also, Mickey loves Megan Thee Stallion I will die on these hills baby!

you’re trying to convince a friend to get into your current fandom(s) with you. what episode, clip, or scene are you showing them? LOOK AT THESE SLUTS THEY ARE SO HOT FOR EACH OTHER and that's it, if they aren't convinced, then they are a lost cause and not worth my precious breath!

and finally, what does fandom mean to you? oh buddyyyyy, well like I mentioned above, I came into this during the pandemic. I was working the biggest med-surg floor at a city hospital and I was exposed very early on (luckily I stayed negative). Anyways, my anxiety was absolutely bonkers, as was my anger (no hazard pay but records profits for the healthcare industry?!). So fic became so so special and meaningful to me, which led me to all these new friends that I feel like I have no reason but to be myself around and they are all so supportive and encouraging and we can talk about smut and its totally normal and they feed my brain regularly with words and art and gifs and headcanons and FRIENDSHIP and omggggg I love you all so so so so much!!!!!!!!!!

I will refrain from tagging since it's late late late but if you read this, I am giving you a virtual and consensual hug and know that you are amazing and strong and wonderful and your feelings and headcanons are valid!

[warabidakihime]

MORE DAYS WITH YOU

•·················•·················•

★ characters: gyutaro x reader | modern au ★ plot summary: Saying goodbye to the past, facing the present, and looking forward to the future together. ★ fic playlist: Enchanted, You Are In Love, Delicate, What You Mean to Me, Begin Again, Everything Has Changed ★ content warnings : implied violence and abuse, ,profanities, and, smut.

•·················•·················•

Prologue

The crowded bus was filled with a cacophony of murmurs and other noises, but Gyutaro managed to escape the noise pollution thanks to his noise-canceling headphones blaring music at maximum volume.

Another dreadful week had begun, and Gyutaro was feeling even grumpier today due to a severe bout of insomnia. He could barely keep his eyes open, except for the bus driver's erratic driving. The driver's constant stomping on the gas pedal and sudden slamming of the brakes prevented Gyutaro from dozing off. As he fought to stay awake, he noticed two girls seated in front of him.

Although Gyutaro couldn't make out their conversation, one of the girls seemed surprisingly upbeat for a Monday morning.

Curiosity piqued, he decided to take a closer look. It turned out that both girls attended his school, but he wasn't sure if they were in the same grade as him.

Gyutaro was an introverted guy who rarely interacted with his fellow students, so he didn't recognize most of them on campus. The exceptions were his closest friends, his little sister, and a few teachers.

However, there was a time when he was more outgoing and sociable.

In his younger years, Gyutaro had been engaging and receptive. Everyone in his old neighborhood adored him. But after they moved and his environment changed, along with the people around him, he himself changed as well.

"I can't believe how my heart was pounding while waiting for my turn," you exclaimed animatedly to your friend, f/n, as you recalled the adventures of the previous night.

"But did you manage to get tickets?" f/n asked eagerly.

You grinned widely and did a little dance in your seat as you proudly displayed the concert tickets you had scored the night before.

"Heck yeah!"

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of red eyes were fixed on you as you continued your joyful dance.

Something that had long been dormant in Gyutaro suddenly came to life again.

Unable to contain his curiosity, he observed you silently, racking his brain to think of the upcoming artists who would be touring in your hometown.

"Yikes."

Gyutaro immediately clamped his palm over his lips after unintentionally blurting out his thoughts.

At that moment, you turned around, searching for the person who had spoken, and your eyes met Gyutaro's.

Gyutaro quickly averted his gaze and pretended to be unaffected, as if he hadn't just made an awkward noise out of nowhere.

He had reacted far too strongly when he heard you mention another one of those overrated K-pop groups. He had a deep disdain for them, especially boy bands. Whenever his little sister blasted their music at full volume in her room, he could practically feel his ears bleeding. The thought of Ume raving about those dazzling, handsome boys annoyed him. Ironically, he would prefer her fangirling over her incessant wailing whenever he teased her favorite member.

Once, as a joke, he had even drawn a mustache on the poor guy's face in the poster hanging in Ume's room. She didn't talk to him for a week until Gyutaro gave her their latest album as a peace offering, and everything went back to normal. Lost in thought, a chuckle slipped through his lips as he reminisce the silly memory.

Meanwhile, you had turned your attention toward him, trying to identify the source of the soft chuckle you had heard. Gyutaro had a habit of reacting impulsively, making it seem as though he were an open book for anyone to read and decode.

Lost in his own world, he didn't notice your gaze for a few seconds. When he finally looked up and saw that someone was watching him, your eyes met again.

This time, Gyutaro decided to play along and maintained eye contact with you, as if engaging in a silent competition of who would look away first.

Since he was wearing a facemask, he felt less self-conscious about looking at someone or allowing others to look at him.

Despite disagreeing with your taste in music, Gyutaro couldn't deny that you were attractive. On any other day, he would never let someone as beautiful as you gaze at him.

After a few more seconds, one of you finally broke the silence.

You offered him a shy smile and mumbled a "hello," to which Gyutaro awkwardly nodded in response. His throat was dry, and he was afraid his voice might crack, so he chose a simple nod to acknowledge you.

Both of you were so engrossed in each other that you didn't notice your stop had arrived.

"Hey, let's go. We're going to be late," f/n reminded you, preparing to leave the bus.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Let's go."

You grabbed your backpack, and Gyutaro, still wearing a dreamy expression, did the same. The whole interaction had taken him by surprise, and he couldn't quite categorize it as a proper conversation.

"See you around," you said. Gyutaro turned to face you, his lips parting to say something, but no words came out.

"Sure," he eventually managed to say.

You gave him another smile, this time more assured, and glanced at him once more before walking away with f/n.

"Do you know him?" your friend inquired as you made your way across the school campus towards your first period.

"Yes, but I don't know his name yet," you replied, prompting a deadpan response from f/n, "What?"

"He's in my home economics class, and we live in the same neighborhood, but I've never had the opportunity to speak to him formally."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure how to approach him, and I don't want to make a poor first impression."

"Are you crushing on him?" f/n raised an eyebrow, unable to hide her amusement.

Trying to play it cool, you couldn't help but smile, feeling the crimson creeping up your cheeks and ears, giving away your secret before you could even respond. But you beat f/n to it.

"I'm not sure if it's a crush yet. I don't know anything about him." You glanced around to make sure the boy of your fascination wasn't nearby, listening to your conversation.

You would die of embarrassment if he found out about your little secret.

"Well, you better make a move before someone else does. Start by asking for his name the next time you see him in home economics class, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Good luck! Who would have thought someone could overshadow your favorite K-pop idols?"

"I guess you could say he's quite promising," you chuckled.

"Now I'm curious about him too. Befriend him as soon as possible so I can assess him," f/n joked, earning another chuckle from you.

"Don't rush me. I need to build my confidence first. You know how I am when it comes to meeting new people."

"Nah, you'll be fine."

"Well, after home economics class, we'll meet up as usual, so I'll keep you updated if anything happens."

"Go get 'em, girl," f/n said, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

As you made your way to class, the two of you continued your conversation.

One of the perks of having a large school campus was that you could chat about various things while walking from one class to another. After discussing your adorable crush, you switched topics and excitedly talked about the concert you would be attending next month.

Meanwhile, Gyutaro had just finished wiping his nose after sneezing in his biology class. Seated by the window, he often got distracted by the view outside.

Trying to focus on his teacher's presentation, his thoughts kept wandering back to you.

Now that he was alone and free to think, he couldn't help but notice the clarity of your eyes and the lusciousness of your lips.

Covering his mouth with his palm, Gyutaro admired the expansive schoolyard view and reminisced about his interaction with you that morning.

"She's just like a golden retriever, overly enthusiastic and sometimes a drama queen," he whispered to himself, chuckling. "But a cute golden retriever nonetheless."

You were attending your history class in the classroom above him.

f/n leaned over to peek at and copy your notes, since she couldn't see what your teacher wrote on the glass board. When she was done, her gaze shifted to your face.

A small chuckle escaped her lips.

It was evident that your thoughts were not focused on the history of Egypt but rather on a certain boy with gorgeous, deep green eyes.

[venusgirltarot]

Although the pictures above are edited by me to fit a theme, the original pictures are not mine! All credit goes to the original owners!

Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, envision the person you are thinking of and then choose the pile(s) you feel most drawn to.

If you would like a personal reading from me, you can get one, here!

Hello, lovely pile one! The last time you saw your person they may have confessed feelings for you or there was some sort of conversation between the two of you that took your connection with them to the next level. This could be someone you’ve had a crush on or been in the talking phase with for awhile and one of you made the first move and asked the other out on a date.

This has a very lovey honeymoon phase type of vibe. Before this conversation or offer, your person had a lot of anxiety and stress towards you and the connection you two have. Like a fear that they’ve been reading the situation wrong, the feelings are one sided, you don’t see them as anymore than a friend, etc. but this conversation the two of you had completely eliminated those fears for them.

There’s this fresh, vibrant and excited energy surrounding them. I heard “the stars shine brighter” almost like every part of life for them is more vibrant and meaningful now that they’ve made this next step with you. I keep getting a message about Mary Poppins? I keep getting an image from the beginning of the original movie where that guy is walking around the town and singing? (I’m sorry if that’s off, I haven’t watched that movie since I was a kid) this may resonate with some of you somehow (if it does, please let me know! I love hearing about how odd little messages like this resonate with you all!)

The people around your person may also notice that they’re happier. I heard “pep in their step” your person just comes off as so much lighter, happier and vibrant to those around them.

As for how this person felt the last time you saw each other:

When I was shuffling for this portion, I heard “giddy” and “blind hope” The last time you saw your person may have been in some sort of group setting or small gathering. They may have been jealous or upset about the lack of attention they were getting from you but I don’t think they made this known or told you about it. They may have seen you talking to someone else and they felt very jealous and this is what pushed them to have this conversation with you or ask you out (I keep hearing “blind hope” again) the way this person approached you or asked you out may have seemed abrupt to you but I don’t think you were upset about it, at all. In fact, I think you may have been waiting for this for awhile. This jealousy pushes them to make the first move and it’s not something thought out or planned and afterward, it feels like a weight lifted off their shoulders. There may be this mentality for them of like “I’ve been stressing about pile one and whether or not they have feelings for me for so long and I let it hold me back from asking them out but now that I have, I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner” it feels like the easiest thing they’ve ever done because your connection and conversations are just so effortless. The two of you mesh together really well.

They have this overall very giddy and excited energy but also more relaxed than they have been in a long time. They may be sleeping better now that they’ve asked you out. Truly, they were so worried about the feelings being one sided and you not wanting them that it kept them up at night. I just heard “I missed you so much”

I feel like I’m not supposed to say much more, I believe you’ll be going on a date with this person soon and I’m strongly feeling that I’m not supposed to give out too much information and to let you experience this for yourself and I would recommend you also do the same! Get to know this person through them themselves (so no social media stalking lol) and don’t obsess or stress about the connection too much! Let it flow effortlessly and enjoy this person and the time you spend with them! The feelings are most definitely mutual and there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Hello, Pile Twos!

The last time you saw your person could have been at some sort of charity event or work event. They were really excited to see you and really nervous, as well. They spent a lot of time looking at you. There was something about you that came off as very giving and mature. Everything about you seemed so effortless and elegant to them.

You could have also been around children. This person thinks you’re very good with children and have a very motherly/fatherly/parental vibe and they really like that about you. They may have seen a more intimate side to you or less professional side to you. Maybe you know them through work or something professional and when they last saw you, it was somewhere outside of work where you didn’t have to be as straight forward or professional.

You came off as very easy going and friendly to them. You know how to work a crowd and keep a conversation going. A lot of the time, your person just stood back in awe of you. You may have felt that they didn’t like you or something because they didn’t talk to you much or seem to be making an effort to be around you more but that’s not the case at all, they definitely noticed you. I heard “spent the whole night noticing you” I don’t get the vibe that they were too intimidated to talk to you or felt like they couldn’t, I think they just enjoyed seeing you socialize and just be yourself.

They really like getting to see you in a setting that’s very different from the kind of setting they usually see you in. They also thought you were very funny and easy going. I know I’ve said easy going before but it’s a message that keeps coming in frequently. Maybe you’re serious at work or wherever you usually see this person? There’s just something so different about you and the way you act here like more light and carefree, just enjoying yourself and not worrying about anything or stressing. Maybe you have a very stressful job? Or your job has been very stressful lately?

After this last interaction, your person saw you as someone very balanced. Grounded but carefree and kind of go with the flow, funny and outgoing but also serious and professional. I think this person is seeing more of you and your personality and they really like what they see. They want to know more about you, you definitely fascinate them.

This could be a very recent ex. The last time you saw them could have been when you were meeting up to give each other back all your old stuff or something or maybe you share custody of your children or a pet or something? The reason for the breakup could be due to infidelity. For some of you (especially if children are involved) your person could even still be in a relationship with the person they cheated on you with.

No matter the situation, your person felt very flustered around you. You came off as very self sufficient and happy, like you’re doing fine without this person in your life. Some of the cards you got were The Empress, The 10 of Cups and The Four of Wands. To them, it seems like luck is on your side and you’re doing just fine.

I heard “best you’ve ever been” I keep hearing a 5SOS song. I think it’s “Mood Swings” (I could definitely be wrong tho) but the lyric is “I can tell by the look in your eyes that you don’t wanna fight on a Friday night” and “I hope you don’t mind that I ruined our time” I’m getting very emotional and on the verge of tears rn so hearing this may be very emotional for you? If this is an ex, you may still have love for them and are fond of the memories you share with them but are also aware that they aren’t good for you and that you need to move forward without them or at the very least, without them playing the same role or taking up the same space in your life that they did previously. If no one else has told you, I want you to know that that is okay and I’m proud of you for knowing when a situation/person is no longer serving you and moving forward without them while still healing from that loss and hurt. Your feelings are valid and it’s okay to move on. The time you spent with this person was not time wasted and it’s okay to think back on it and appreciate it while still moving forward without this person.

Now, back to this person’s thoughts/feelings, they may have even expressed to you that they wanted to try again but if so, you turned them down (some of you may have told them you’d think about it and it’s not my place to tell you what you should/shouldn’t do and I can only see so much of this situation but I do want to tell you that just because someone wants you back, doesn’t mean you have to or should take them back. Always do what’s best for you and what will make you happiest but don’t feel like you have to do anything for anyone other than yourself.)

I’ll finish off by saying pretty much what I’ve been saying, this person sees you as an elevated person. Like someone that has gone through a post breakup sort of glow-up and is thriving on their own. You’re coming off to them as very successful and self sufficient. I heard “you’re absolutely glowing” you don’t need this person and it’s obvious to them. They may have even been a little jealous seeing you and knowing others would want you (I heard “why wouldn’t they”) you could definitely move on to someone else and have no problem doing it and that kind of drives this person insane. They’re feeling a lot of regret for their past actions and rethinking their decisions but that’s not on you at all.

I’m going to end the reading here because I feel it’s best for you to focus on yourself and not worry about this person. You’re doing so much better and are going to continue to get better with time. You shouldn’t have to worry about this person or their thoughts/feelings. Don’t let their energy hold you back or weigh you down. Do what’s best for you and what makes you happy!

I hope this reading has brought you some sort of peace, clarification, or happiness! Feedback is always appreciated :) have a good day or night. Sending you love and light!

࿐ mara

[love-toxin]

always smelling like/having something of the four’s on you :( wearing Steve’s blue jeans or jerseys that fit ever so slightly bagging on you to the point you always feel engulfed in him even though he’s away. wearing Robin’s rings and jewelry that always make her hands so pretty when she holds you or cups your face before a barrage of kisses. stealing Eddie’s leather jackets/band tees because they smell like sweet tobacco smoke and late night giggling with notes of tender love. always having Nancy’s back-up tube of lipstick or perfume roller in your pocket for when she wants to touch up from completely ingraining her skin and lips against yours. :( I’m so soft

Bonus points for: Jonathan’s camera with the worn straps, Argyle’s hats with little doodles drawn on the undersides of the brims, Chrissy’s kitten-soft cardigans and sweaters, and Billy’s sacred Polaroids of the west coast with dates and memories scribbled on the back :( miss Ellie I love all of them sO MUCH-

IM GONNA SOB. ANON UR ADDING YEARS TO MY LIFE ♡

Steve's blue jeans are classic, well-worn, denim soft to the touch. He pulls them up and fastens them for you on your hips, his fingers lingering there once they're set and the denim bunches up around your ankles. These ones are yours, your pair, that you can stretch or shrink or belt or do anything you want with. Splatters of paint on the shins from when he helped Dustin paint his bedroom, smelling strongly of his cologne--he sprayed a little extra on them so it'll stick to you. His smile brightens the room when he leans back to take a look at you, so soft and pretty in his pants. He knows you're gonna keep stealing his anyways, but if he minded, he wouldn't leave his closet open whenever he wanders away to use the bathroom or get a drink when you're over. It's worth it to have to dig in his father's dusty closet to find something to wear if he gets to see you in his clothes forevermore.

Robin has so much jewelry you don't know what to make of it all. Rings, necklaces, watches, bracelets--they make up a little ocean of silver and gold across the top of her dresser, a cracked mirror propped up for her to check them all out. They're unorganized, some a little tangled together. Easy for you to sneak something here and there just to wear it when you're both out together. It's a way for you to hold hands without your fingers touching, some divine show of ownership. You wear her rings, fiddle with her necklaces, you show off the glitz and glitter of her jewelry like it's a crown marking your royal status. It sometimes doesn't occur to her that you're wearing them until she's too close to hide her shyness, her cheeks a rosy hue as she swallows at the sight of her favourite pendant hanging around your neck. So pretty, you're the prettiest in the world--and you can have as much as you want, so long as she gets to see those gleaming gold and silver accents contrast your glowing skin.

Eddie's leather jacket is sacred. Pins piercing the fabric in perfect array, leather frayed in the way it's supposed to for it to fit perfectly. It carries the scent of tobacco and pot and the smell of his hair, both shampoo and cologne a sickly sweet-musky combo that floods your senses when he puts it over your shoulders. It's heavy for that frame of yours, but you keep it up, and he's struck with pride. What he wouldn't give to rip all those clothes off and leave you in nothing but his jacket. He could wear the stains of your sweat on the inner lining, could lift it to his nose and inhale the smell of you and instantly feel that head rush that's better than any special shit he could get off Rick. That thought is what pushes him to let you have it, to zip it up and tell you to keep it safe. Your doe eyes when you ask him if he's gonna do something dangerous, something scary, again. And he just laughs, despite knowing how worried you really are. Because Eddie knows he'll never run away again--but he also won't leave you to fret and cry at the thought of losing him, never again. Not his little angel.

Nancy's lipstick leaves a stain wherever she kisses you. Smudges, smears, blurs, brightens her skin when she's dragging you up and down against her lips, angling you so she can get every inch that she wants to mark. Prim, proper Nancy is also the martyr Nancy, the same hands that apply her lipstick with a delicate touch also wield the guns and fire and violence that you owe your life to. Her breath raises those goosebumps to your skin, lips pursed to suck one harsh, defining bruise in your skin through her teeth. One small, purplish splotch ringed with scarlet lipstick, made permanent only in your dreams as Nancy finally pulls herself off of you. Fishing in your back pocket, she produces those two tubes that she knows she'll always find on you--and with a practiced hand, she reapplies her lipstick and uncaps her roller to dust her throat with perfume, ensuring an image just as pristine as she arrived with when she wipes those smudged lines from her fair skin. Perfection.

Jonathan has little else but that. His camera. Beat up and old, cracked lens replaced with a cheaper but unbroken one, leather straps thinner than they were but still holding strong. There's no hope in affording a brand new one, much less a nice one, but the smile on your face when he bashfully gifts it to you makes it feel like he gave you the world. You don't have to take it, it's a piece of crap, I just thought you might want something to start--and you're kissing away those mumbled worries from his lips, eyes glowing with adoration as you hold it close to your chest. The strap fits perfectly around your neck, leather sliding against your skin and soft, already broken in by years of use. The first photo you take, lens held up with careful fingers, is of him. Off-colour and standing nervously, smile shy but sincere. You'll keep that forever, that one and many more framed up in the house you'll share one day.

Argyle loves many things, and few of those love him back. You slot into that category, he's sure, which is how he finds himself drawing out his love on the brim of his most precious cap. The underside, of course, to keep it secret--but almost nobody would decipher the symbols that represent you. A sun, a flower, a cluster of stars, a line of poetry he read once in school that fits you perfectly, makes the words stick in his head because they always make him think of you. His heart thuds against his ribs like it's trying to break out when you put that Surfer Boy visor on your head, plucking it off his own just to giggle and spin it to wear it like you've seen him do. Your awed gaze turned upward to survey those doodles when you notice them, and the smile you show off when you take it off to look at them closer...that's enough in itself. More than he could ask for, yet only a snippet of what he'll get when he finally brings himself to admit who those lovelorn drawings are for.

Chrissy's sweaters are a statement. Cheerleader. Princess. Hawkins' Sweetheart. When you wear each one, they spell out her love on your sleeves, her devotion to give you things so precious that she wouldn't hand over for anything else. Baby pink and mint green and pale yellow, blue and white and lavender and peach and all the colours that crystallize in the sky when a rainbow forms after a storm. That's what you feel like to her, that's what you are--a precious, pretty splatter of colours in her comparably dull world, the reward she's been blessed with after a life of locked doors and tears and a churning stomach. Your skin spells out so much more when the soft fabric of her clothing bristles against it, more than anything she ever hoped for herself. You wear them, and all she sees is love.

Billy can recall the dates with almost complete accuracy. Each polaroid pinched between your delicate fingers has a story, a life behind it that you've never seen, but one that Billy remembers with relative fondness. Some are punctuated with painful memories, but those ones he glosses over and you move on to the next. He sits by your side on the floor, leaned against his bed, a cigarette perched between his lips and music playing quietly for once in the background, and you hold out each of the photos spread out in a vast array between both of your legs. Smoke stings your lungs but smoothes the ache in his chest, the burn that flares up when he's faced with image after image of that beach, those waves, and that smiling blonde in the sunhat that he was forced to leave behind. It didn't dawn on him before, but your piqued curiosity and the giggles and "awww!"s you fill the room with at seeing his baby pictures spark a new idea in his mind, and a smirk on his face. Those memories from the west coast have been replayed to death in his mind, those pictures old and fraying--he needs new ones. Ones that will never make him ache or burn with regret. Photos of you.

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

They're drunk and you're carrying them to their room, when they unexpectedly say how much they love you, causing you to drop them on the floor🍻💕

Since you didn't specify a ship, have some nessian fluff :) 

***

Nesta grunted under the weight of Cassian’s arm slung over her shoulder as she followed Azriel down the hall of the apartment they shared. Azriel himself had Elain scooped up in his arms, carrying her limp form to bed, having caught her earlier as she’d stumbled off the table she’d been dancing on with Mor.

“Where are you gonna put her?” Nesta asked after him.

Looking over a shoulder at her, Azriel replied, “I’ll put her in my room, she’ll be safe there.”

Nesta nailed him with a look, a perfectly tweezed eyebrow hooking in dubious question.

“I’ll sleep with Cassian in his room tonight. Don’t worry. I figured it would be easier than you trying to get her home.”

Nesta’s grey eyes narrowed as she watched Azriel carrying her sister further down the hall, cradling her tenderly to his chest as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Her hair was covering most of her face and her small feet were bare, having kicked off her heels hours ago as the house party turned truly raucous.

Deciding she was in good hands, she turned her attention back to Cassian, hanging off her shoulder heavily and mumbling something incoherent, his eyes heavy lidded.

“Nes, you’re s-so great,” he slurred, peering down into her face with a goofy grin on his lips.

“Ahuh, thanks. How about using your feet?” she grumbled, struggling to get his hulking form through the doorway into his room. “They can’t be that big for no reason,” she groused under her breath. “And don’t call me Nes.”

“No really, s-sweetheart. Listen…” he trailed off, his breath hot on her hair and smelling strongly of whiskey. She couldn’t help but admire the fact that he was still kind of standing, if she were being honest. With the copious amounts he’d had to drink tonight, she thought she’d be holding her friend’s hair back as he lurched with his head in a toilet bowl by now.

Every time she’d looked up throughout the night, she’d seen him knock back a drink. At one point she’d been standing in the kitchen talking to Eris when his face had been contorted into such a look of disgust; his eyes smouldering as if he was thinking about 101 ways to murder the pompous jerk.

She didn’t really mind Eris. Sure, he could be a dick at times, and she knew he had some sort of beef with Az and Cass, but Rhys was friendly enough with him and he seemed to float on the periphery of these parties they sometimes threw. Besides, she liked his honestly, despite her wanting to claw his eyes out whenever he turned that vicious tongue towards one of her sisters… or Cassian.

“Just hold still, you hulking buffoon! We need to get your shoes off,” she struggled. She’d always secretly admired Cassian’s muscles. His broad shoulders had drawn her attention many times, as had his rippling abs and strong thighs whenever she got a chance to peep them at their friends trips to the beach or by the pool. Right now, though? She cursed the pounds of man flesh she was drowning under in her efforts to keep him upright.

Trying to hold him up with a hand to his chest, she bent over, snatching at the laces of his boots to loosen them, hoping he’d be able to do the rest and kick them off.

“Nesta…” he murmured from above her, her name wrapping around his tongue in a way she’d never heard from the friend she’d begrudgingly made.

She ignored him, that small hand still pinned at the centre of his muscled chest. His strong heartbeat thumped steadily beneath her palm, but she focused on steadying him, ensuring he didn’t tip forward.

“Nesta,” he breathed. Her name was a murmured prayer on his tongue. This time, she felt him fingering a strand of her hair between a thumb and a forefinger, the sensation causing tingles to erupt across her scalp.

Crouched from her position at his feet, she half swung her face to look up into his.

“What?” she barked; flustered and distracted as her attention flickered back to his tangled laces.

“I love you. So so much, Nesta,” he declared, murmuring the words into the darkened room.

Nesta stilled, slowly rising from her crouch and levelled him with a stare, beholding the open and endearingly pained look on his face. She felt the sincerity in his confession, albeit his eyes were not blinking at the same time.

The sweet moment didn’t last long however as he toppled over like a sack of potatoes and began to fall to the floor.

“Oh fuck!”

She lunged, trying to catch him but being much taller and much larger than she was, he just took her down with him, crumpling into a tangled heap of limbs on the carpet.

She groaned from beneath him, pinned under his massive body, but Cassian just peered down at her, his hair cascading over their faces as he lay half on top of her. She wasn’t sure he was even aware they had fallen.

His hazel eyes were clear, despite his words and body not behaving in accordance, when he breathed, “I do love you, sweetheart.”

Nesta just stared up at his face, momentarily forgetting she was being crushed by this walking Greek god when she heard a derisive snort from the doorway. Walking past Cassian’s room, Azriel hooked a brow at them both sprawled out of the floor but otherwise didn’t react any further.

“Finally,” she heard him mutter under his breath as he strode away, having done his due diligence, tucking Elain in securely. She scowled at his back as she heard him chuckling down the hall.

*******

love confession prompt fills