#as well as a way to be a little less of a perfectionist

[marley-manson]

i need to sign up for more fandom events because apparently deadlines are the only way to convince my brain to finish fic at a reasonable rate

i still have to go over it at least once more but i now have a complete first chapter that i can post tomorrow for au roulette \o/

(it's hawk/frank btw, for anyone into that)

[sheliesshattered]

my 7 yards of silk-rayon burgundy velvet has been handwashed, dried, and properly hung up so it won't get creased before I get around to cutting out my pattern pieces

[reasonsforhope]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but especially with the end of the school year coming up soon, and a bunch of people about to leave high school or about to leave college, I just wanted to say:

Being an adult can be really nice, actually!!!

Like, okay, yeah, life can be fucking stressful sometimes, and there's definitely an annoying amount of paperwork.

But me and just about every single adult I know will agree: I would never choose to go back to being a teenager, even if I somehow could.

Insert obvious disclaimer that nothing is universal. But for people worried about aging or graduating into the next chapter of life, here's some words of reassurance:

When you're a teenager, your brain is extra mean to you. Like, neurologically. All of the changes it's undergoing really, really increase rates of depression/anxiety/etc. A lot of the time, literally just not being a teenager anymore is really good for your mental health

Less than five months out of high school, everyone I knew my age was like "Thank fuck we're no longer in high school." Once you leave high school and adolescence there's really just such a dramatic drop in petty bullshit. Shit that would have been a huge social humiliation or gossip in high school is really often just like, "Hate that for you, man." Boom, done.

When you're a teenager or a brand new adult, you're encountering so many problems for the first time ever. When you're older, you just. Have learned how to handle a lot more things. You know what to do way more often and that builds confidence

When you're an adult, other people generally don't care if you don't do things perfectly, because jobs and life don't work like grades. This was such a trip to learn, honestly? But when you are an adult or have a job the bar for success is usually just "Did you do the thing?" or "Did you do the thing well enough that it works?" or "Did you show up to work for your whole shift and look like you were doing things?"

Similarly, if you're about to graduate college and you're really stressed about it, fyi just about everyone I knew in college ended up very quickly going "wow, 'real life' is way easier." Admittedly I went to a school full of very stressed out perfectionists and the like, so I can't promise this is universal, but there's a very real chance that life will in many ways get easier when you graduate

WAY MORE CONTROL OF YOUR OWN LIFE

Literally I cannot overstate that last point. As an adult, you are (barring certain disabilities or shitty circumstances like abusive family/the criminal justice system/etc.) able to make most of your own decisions. If you want to rearrange your furniture, you can. If you want to eat tater tots at midnight, you can. If you want to get yourself a little treat, you can. You can sign contracts and make your own legal and medical decisions and not need a parent or guardian signature for just about anything ever again

You generally learn how to give fewer fucks

The people around you have also generally learned how to give fewer fucks

Even when things are shitty, being able to choose what kind of shitty a lot of the time can really be worth an awful lot

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Platonic Yan! Dick Grayson w/ batsis darling

A/N: I'm sorry. I love crazy Dick. WHat can sayyy..

concept: You instantly don't take a liking to Dick. Something about him makes you uncomfortable. He's obsessed with being your favorite sibling and making you love him back...even if he has to wring it out of you. (Any version of Dick)

Warnings; Obsession, intimidation and possessive behaviors

Requests: always open. please read pinned post/masterlist

Masterlist

Yandere Dick is a good big brother. He still finds time out of his hectic life to spend with all of his siblings. He remembers all of their interests, a shoulder to cry on and an overall positive reinforcement for the bunch. When you first got in the family, everyone told you over and over, just how perfect he was. There was no better brother than he.

But would i be wrong to say i love the idea of Dick Grayson having a vicious temper? I mean it's hidden perfectly behind is charming smile and good-willed nature.

From the moment you met him, you never truly felt at ease. There was just something off about him that set off alarm bells in your head. You didn't feel safe...you didn't want to be alone with him. It was a guilty feeling seeing as everyone else took to him so well. He was more than welcoming to you so you didn't know why you felt this way.

Dick could sense your unease with him, much to his dismay. He didn't like that one bit. It pissed him off really. In what world someone didn't like him? especially one of the little brats Bruce waddled in. You need to feel comfortable with him, he's a perfectionist that takes nothing less.

Yandere Dick Grayson is obsessed with being your favorite sibling. He's achieved it with all the others, you're no exception. But you avoid him at every single turn. Literally. You've rejected movie nights, dinner invitations, gifts, and other kind gestures. His self worth is rather outward and you're hurting him very badly right now. Why can't you see that? stop being difficult and love your big bro.

As time progresses you can see more cracks coming through. The others cannot possibly notice a flaw in him but you see it all. You know he's eager to be close with you but your body just won't let you. He terrifies you. Especially when you are hanging out with another sibling or texting them.

You don't ever reach out to him. You don't care about him like you did with the others. Why don't you care? You ghosted ever message he's ever sent you. He constantly asks if you're okay or if you want food but you just cannot be bothered to reply. To you it's a trap. You're scared if you give him an inch that he'll run a mile. (which he would)

He becomes visibly irritable with you. He'll grit his teeth through his stunning smile and his seemingly playful words laced with venom. They're soft enough that the others brush it off but you can read between the lines. Other times if you're eating family dinner, and he's upset with you chatting it up with someone, he'll serve you last and the least amount of food.

Dick's last resort was to just forcefully get you alone together for a brother-sister bonding experience. He tricked you in saying the others were meeting at a pizza place after their patrol and offered to drive you over since he was about to leave. You get there, awkwardly sitting at a booth alone with him. He's trying his best to strike up a conversation and patch things up but you're completely silent. You barely even look at him, your eyes are constantly scanning the room for your siblings expected arrival. Hoping one of them would come and save you.

To his glee, you had eventually spoken up but only to ask when the others were supposed to arrive. His smile dropped and the blood in his hands could’ve burst out from how tightly his fists were clenched.

This is his tipping point. You ignored him all this time and the second you decided to speak up it's about them? Something switched in Dick.

It was a strange sight to see. His eyes eyes were completely glossed over and dilated with a murderous intensity. They're wide as they shot through you. His jaw tightened as he thought about how he wanted to hurt you like you're doing with him. You wanna play mental games with him? So be it. He should torture his love right into you. He's got a perfect method aaaalll picked out. You're giving him a run for his money and he's all out of it.

"Jealousy is endearing, don't you think?" His tone was deceptively playful, you knew he was anything but happy at the moment. The unease in his demeanor was enough to cause you to shift in your seat and lean back against the plush of the booth's backboard.

You hesitantly questioned what he could've possibly meant by that to his reply of,

"I just understand your game now. You enjoy making me jealous, it's fun to you. This is all a playful ruse to get more of my attention?...Right?” He shook his head and let out a deep, twisted chuckle.

“You didn't have to do all of this, baby bird. I would've made more than enough time for you had you asked. But i forgive you, if that's all this was?" He leaned in over the table, inches away from your face. His brows furrowed and the intimidation from his eye contact was enough to make you crumble. He was a dangerous person, capable of so many things. He would physically hurt you or his siblings but he’ll find a way to make sure he was number one.

The honest answer to his question was No, this wasn't a game. You just didn't like him. That was all.

But you knew what this was. He was giving you a way out before he gave into the thoughts swarming his mind. There was only one right answer. Give up the gun, say yes, and embrace your brother. He only wants a relationship with you. He's the best there ever was at his job so please, stop being a hard-ass and love him back...

[mirohlayo]

SUCH A SIMP

( The monegasque driver has no problem showing himself to be particularly affectionate with you )

warning : fluff, charles spamming you with messages (but it's cute)

note : race week again bby

word count : 2.2k

Oh. It's funny how the monegasque who seems so confident turns into a real man unable to breathe properly when he's away from you.

A young woman who has only just taken her first steps in the incredible world of F1. You were able to apply for the red team, the italian Ferrari team. A great and majestic racing team whose name demands respect and recognition, especially for Italians. And you had just joined these motorsport gods in F1.

Finally, you are not in charge of the most difficult and relentless job either. You were recruited as a new social media manager, certainly with a lot of tasks to carry out, but undoubtedly a little less important than those of the racing engineers and strategists. However, the media is a source of content that fans of the sport love and your ultimate goal is to create the best videos and content possible for Ferrari.

So little by little, you appeared in the Ferrari motorhome. Your colleagues were starting to remember your face and your name, and after a good three weeks on the job, a lot of things had radically changed.

Firstly, you had integrated well into the Italian team. Good relationships and understandings with your colleagues. And secondly, and not least, a new form... of friendship - if we could describe it that way - was formed between you and the famous Monegasque Ferrari driver. Charles Leclerc.

The young man found himself curious about you, interested in this young new woman of his age who, despite the difficulty of the work, completed the tasks required in no time, a fairly perfectionist quality. It must be said that we can clearly see that she really likes this job. And this had intrigued Charles, who often found himself looking for the young brunette.

With the support of his teammate Carlos, who pushed him to take the plunge to try to approach you, Charles ended up introducing himself to you - as if you didn't already know him in this environment. He approached with a shy, almost nervous smile, while he could not hide his completely admiring, almost affectionate look. He struggled to form his sentences, far too dazzled by your sublime beauty and presence.

You seemed quite shy and reserved at first, and that was the case in everyday life. But that's what made you so charming, and Charles felt his heart beat harder and harder every time he managed to make you smile or laugh, a blush that appeared on your face and that he loved more and more.

You blink suddenly, as you start walking with your shoulders straight again in the paddock. You were so lost in your thoughts, remembering how this friendship between you and the driver had blossomed, that you hadn't noticed that the Ferrari motorhome was right in front of you.

The automatic doors open as you enter the small cube, shyly greeting the employees and your colleagues. “Hey, Y/n.” Carlos smiles at you kindly, happy to see you there. You hadn't set foot in the paddock for 2 weeks already, the team had offered you the opportunity to work remotely. You jumped at the opportunity, the chance to spend some time with your family during the week.

“How were your two weeks away from us? I bet you missed us” He winks at you, knowing deep down that a part of you was eager to get back to work there. "It was great. I got to enjoy a little bit with my family." You smile sincerely, remembering the activities you shared with your parents. “But it’s true that I missed working within the stable itself. And then, I couldn’t wait to see you again.”

Carlos' smirk is evident, his arms crossed over his chest as he smiles more and more. You raise your eyebrows slightly, intrigued by his reaction. "Is something wrong? Did I say something funny?" Finally, he chuckles weakly as he shakes his head. “I’m just thinking about how a certain man here was also very, very excited to see you again” He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, leaning down to your ear so he can speak in a low voice.

“And although I really like you Y/n, that man isn’t me. Besides, I’m sure he’s currently complaining about how much he misses you.” He stands up straight and gives you another wink, followed by another smirk. You feel your cheeks heat up, blush violently. You try to look away, embarrassed.

You know very well who Carlos wants to talk about. You wanted to deny it, to tell yourself that it wasn't true and that it was only your conscience playing with you, but after Carlos' words, all these questions seem true. "Come on, go. You must have a lot of work, just like me. See you later, Y/n!" Carlos pats your shoulder as he walks further behind you.

You don't know how long you stood there in the middle of the motorhome floor, but long enough for you to think about what just happened. Carlos is always honest, and when he saw you in the presence of Charles, he did not hesitate to make some embarrassing remarks to you, like that the monegasque looked at you with hearts in his eyes or that he particularly liked to seek physical contact with you.

These remarks made you blush and Charles always seemed to become embarrassed, more shy than before as he begged Carlos to leave you alone. Because the Monegasque driver knows that his teammate is aware that he has a weakness for you. More than a weakling, he's literally a simp for you. But he really doesn't want you to know.

Or rather, he would like to but he's afraid of rushing you or of you not feeling the same way. After all, three weeks might be too early for you, but for Charles it was enough to make him completely lovesick for you.

You finally come to your senses, and after checking that your face is no longer completely red, you sit comfortably on the chair in your office. You finally got to work, responding to the last email you missed. A notification vibrated your phone, and glancing at the screen, you saw Charles' name.

You really wanted to continue working seriously, you had promised yourself to get back to work but the notification and the message from Charles were running through your head. So, despite yourself, you grab your phone and open your messages to click on the driver's message. Your gaze softens as you read it, your heart racing.

Charles Lec

I heard you finally arrived to the circuit. can't wait to see you again, miss you y/n :(

see you at the 11 o'clock meeting

The message makes you blush again, more lightly this time. But just with a simple message, Charles knows how to make your heart beat and put you in all your moods. He is charming, funny, and caring. Of course you had to fall in love with him. And Carlos' words said earlier secretly gave you hope. Hope for something deeper.

You were about to respond, but your eyes drifted to the messages he had sent you earlier in the month, specifically during your two weeks of remote working. And reading the messages, that's where Carlos' words took on their full meaning.

Charles Lec

07/06

i just learned that you are remote working, that's why I didn't find you at the paddock

i'm sad that you're not here but you also need to rest during these two weeks :(

miss u a lot

09/06

hello you ;) hope everything goes well.

i don't know if you saw the qualifying but I'm starting the race p11

the race will start soon, I hope you can still watch it

can't wait to see you again, gorgeous

still miss u

12/06

it's not race week but I would have liked to spend these few days with you but you work and you must surely enjoy your family

eat well and don't stay up too late, pretty girl

have a good day :))

14/06

i miss u y/n

i feel like it's been forever since I last saw you

I have already planned a few little things to do when you come back, call me back when you can :)

15/06

hello youu

In 1 week I'll see you again but I can't wait any longer

i think I'm gonna die if I don't talk to you right now

can i call u please? :(

16/06

i did a little workout today and I will continue next week

we see each other again in less than a week and all I can think about is that

take care sweetheart

miss you a lot lately :(

not just lately, miss u always, every single minute of the day

Everything seems to fit together like a puzzle. So Carlos was telling the truth, the man who is so eager to see you again is definitely Charles. Come to think of it, he texted you almost every day. To tell you how much he missed you and that he wanted to see you again, not forgetting to add a few pet names here and there.

This kind of revelation changes everything. Your feelings, the way you think and behave. You were still surprised at the idea that Charles could potentially love you the same way you love him. But there is no doubt about it, after everything that has just happened in a few minutes. And you didn't know if you were looking forward to going to the meeting or not.

But there you are, in front of the door to the small interview room. And as you enter, a little late, almost everyone is there. You can feel several eyes on you, but one is undeniable. Charles is there, sitting, his gaze completely glued to you, totally absorbed and attracted by you alone. He follows you with his eyes, completely in love, while your angelic beauty completely takes his breath away. Oh, he missed your face so much.

You move towards your chair, painfully avoiding meeting his burning gaze. But after all, it's impossible. Why would you want to avoid him, when he certainly feels the same way as you.

So, calmly, you sit down, you take your pen between your fingers, and taking a deep breath, you end up laying your eyes on him. You meet his gaze and there, time seems to stop for a moment. His eyes burn into your face, and your breath catches. But a shy smile, which ends up widening, takes its place on the driver's face. And, shyly, you smile back.

And during this meeting, you couldn't help but glance at each other a few times. And in Charles' head, everything was panicking. He wanted to hold you in his arms and never let go. He wanted to spend every next minute by your side, making you smile and laugh until you lost control. He wanted to stay for hours admiring you, listening to you speak with your sweet voice. He was finally able to live and breathe properly.

The meeting ends, you take a strangely long time to put away the few things you had brought with you. And Charles strangely seems to take care to say goodbye to each of the people who leave the room. So that in the end, you find yourself alone in the room. No one speaks, your gaze each focused on the corners of the room. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Charles finally approached you.

So close, that he ends up wrapping his arms around your waist, nestling his face in the crook of your neck. You practically melt in his embrace, as you return the favor, your hands gently caressing his back. “I missed you so, so much.” His voice is muffled. You giggle weakly, and just that little laugh melts Charles' heart.

"Carlos informed me that a certain person here was very eager to see me again, hmm?". Your shy nature wasn't the type to tease people, but seeing Charles like this made him absolutely adorable and you couldn't help but tease him a little. He groans, because he knows that as soon as he meets Carlos again, he will make him understand that he, on the contrary, will never look forward to seeing him again. But for now, he's just enjoying the moment.

"If it's to be able to stay in your arms like this, then yes I assume that this person is me. And now that you are here, you are certainly not going to leave me." And in an overconfidence, he pulls back just enough to place a soft, long kiss on your cheek, while his hands gently squeeze your hips. The sudden touch makes you jump slightly, and your face doesn't fail to show your embarrassment as it turns a pretty pink.

Which absolutely makes Charles laugh, totally captivated by you. But he absolutely didn't expect you to kiss him back, on his cheek already crimson from the contact of your lips on his skin. The room is suddenly filled with giggles, while the two secret lovers, or rather the two idiots in love who see their relationship blossom into something more beautiful, remain there for a while longer, in each other's arms.

And Carlos, who wanted to make his way into the room to collect his Ferrari cap, had observed everything from the doorway. A huge grin on his face, he finally rolled his eyes, amused. “Such a simp.” He whispers these words, which, without a doubt, perfectly reflect reality. Because yes, Charles is just a simp for you.

[boyfiechan]

I keep thinking about this post lately and honestly, Chan talking you through it sounds about right.

It's nothing new that Chan seems like a very vocal person in general. Back when he was still doing Chan's Room, the major portion of the lives were just him talking. In english, in korean — sometimes mixing both up. Telling us about his day, answering questions, giving opinions on diverse topics, asking questions. Even on bubble, with the way he always translates his thoughts back and forth so everyone can read, to the way he keeps teasing us — asking if he should share some pictures, asking how we want to be called, asking what we are doing — he just enjoys sharing and holding a conversation so much that it wouldn't be different in more intimate settings.

See, he's a perfectionist. Even more, a bit of a people pleaser in a sense that he just wants to make you feel so good and he needs to know that he can do it. He might get off a little bit on that as well, enjoying himself when he can see your struggle to answer a question or tell him how you feel because his fingers are moving so fast, or his mouth feels so good, or the angle his moving his hips is hitting all the right places and even if you're not a natural talker, he might try to fish it out of you.

It might start with a simple is this okay? when the kisses get a little too intense and his instinct to roam his hands around your body get stronger because he just wants to feel you closer, to feel more, to touch more. If you're still new to each other, or if you are in any way less experienced than him, even more of a shy, innocent person his tones goes even gentler, softer as he asks if it's okay to kiss you, if it's okay to touch you there, if it feels good when he does it. And he's very attentive when he does, searching for your eyes, observing how your body melt into his, hoping to catch every single little sound that gets off your mouth because, to him, that's when he knows he's doing the right thing. He wants to make you feel good, he wants to know he's doing it the way you like it, and he want the praise for it.

It's not even intentional, most of the time. He doesn't ask you if he is doing good, but more if it feels good, and it almost seems like it's only about the sensation itself. He's just such a sweet person when it comes to telling people they are doing good — he likes praising people, he likes telling them how good they're doing on such mundane things — and even when he seems to not rely as much on receiving praise as he actually does, if ever a such thing as you're doing so good or you're so good to me leaves your mouth, he's a goner. It's the type of thing that makes him stutter a little, gets him a little dizzy, maybe even having to brace himself because for all that he knows, he could cum right at that very moment, just to the way your voice sounds all breathy and lustful.

And don't get me wrong, he can get very mouthy when the timing is good. Most thing with him escalate on baby steps — he is a slow paced lover, sex to him is not only about getting his dick wet and cumming, but more about the experience itself and to the way lust and pleasure can cloud his mind — and that applies to how his tone can change when you're getting more into it, as the air gets hotter and heavier and he starts to lose his filter. Fuck, you feel so good as his cock slips back into you so deep, so right and you're so tight as he feels you clenching around him because you can feel he is getting filthier and you like it. And again, he's so attentive that he knows you like it, and it's as if you've given him a green light to just say what goes through his mind, and he does it so well.

And it's a different kind of filthy, too. He won't simply ask you if you like when he fucks you or if you like his cock, but if you can feel how deep he is. You like it when I'm inside of you, yeah? You're so perfect, you take me so well as he holds both your hands on top of your head and gives you and open mouthed kiss that feels so messy, so lustful that you get yourself lost in the feeling of it, in the feeling of him. He can feel your getting closer, your moans getting louder and dragged out, clenching around him so often he's seeing stars and he wants you to do it, that's it, cum for me, baby. Wanna feel you cum for me, his voice so whiny it's almost impossible to hold back as you let yourself go, taking you with him because it's just too good.

Are you okay? he asks as lays on your side, catching you by the waist and pressing your body against his after calming down. He wants to ask if he did good, if it was good and maybe even tell you how much he likes you or loves you or how well you did but seeing how tired you are, eyes fluttering shut as he pays attention to his heart rate and the smell of your shampoo, his mind decides to leave the end of this conversation to another moment.

[agaypanic]

heyyy, can I request a chase x fem!reader oneshot where they are like online friends and have grown to like eachother so much to the point he invites her to the island. He's boasting about it but no one believes him until she shows up. Chase is giving her a tour and some of the guys try to show off how powerfull they are and shes not impressed, she's only ever blown away when chase starts to talk all genius-like (Because intellegience is such an aphrodisiac). Its a little based off that one episode where hes defending himself from the others saying how he has talked to girls and that he has an online friend who is possibly a girl.

Smart's Considered Superior (Chase Davenport X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Chase decides to invite one of his online friends to the island. Everyone’s shocked to find that this person actually exists, and even more so when it’s a girl. Chase’s brothers try to impress her with their bionics, but she’s too focused on Chase’s intelligence to even spare a glance.

A/N: in this, chase helped donald make leo’s bionic leg for plot purposes

***

Chase was known to be a perfectionist. Being the most intelligent man in the world gave the boy a superiority complex. He needed everything to be his way, and his way was always above and beyond anyone else’s standards.

So no one was too surprised to see him running around the academy to make sure everything was spick and span, and everyone was on their best behavior.

“Chase, what’s up with you?” Bree asked as she watched her brother frantically clean up the Mentor’s Quarters they shared. “You're being weird.”

“Weirder than usual.” Adam corrected.

“I have a friend coming over,” Chase answered shortly.

“A friend?” Adam, Bree, and Leo looked at each other for a few seconds before bursting out in laughter. Chase rolled his eyes and walked out of the room, heading to the common area. His siblings followed him, still amused. “Very funny, Chase.”

“I’m serious,” the genius hissed, stopping in front of the hydroloop’s doors. “She’s on her way right now.”

“She?” Adam’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Now I know it’s a joke.”

“It’s not a joke. You can see for yourself.”

“Oh, I’d love to!” Adam settled into a chair by the window, keeping a watchful eye on the hydroloop station. Bree and Leo quickly joined him.

Chase shook his head before turning back to the hydroloop. No matter how much teasing he would endure from his family, he was determined to enjoy today.

After about a minute, Chase’s siblings were waiting for him to drop the act. Nothing was happening.

But then suddenly, the hydroloop car could be heard zooming into the station. Everyone perked up, waiting for the doors to open to see who would be on the other side.

“Oh my god.” Bree gasped as she watched someone step out of the hydroloop. “It is a girl!”

Adam, Bree, and Leo watched in disbelief as you stepped into the common area, smiling at Chase. He reached out for a hug, which you eagerly returned. In a flash, the three siblings were out of their seats and standing close to you and Chase, observing the interaction curiously.

“It’s so great to finally see you- Oh!” You were talking to Chase when the sudden presence of the three others surprised you. Chase sighed.

“Y/n, these are my siblings; Adam, Bree, and Leo. Guys, this is my friend Y/n.”

“You’re friends with a girl?” You couldn’t help but laugh at Adam’s question. Chase sighed and rolled his eyes, clearly less amused. “How did you even meet her?”

“Online,” you answered simply before deciding to go into the long explanation of it. “Well, I went to Mission Creek High, but Chase and I had only interacted a little bit. And then you guys got busted for the whole bionic thing and moved here, so we fell out of touch, but then we found each other again online. We’ve been talking for, like, months before Chase finally asked me to come over here.”

Adam, Bree, and Leo stared at you, processing what you had just told them.

“No, this has to be a prank.” Leo decided, much to Chase’s chagrin.

“Come on, Y/n. I’ll show you around the academy.” Chase gently but quickly guided you away from his siblings, who were hot on your tails.

***

“And this is the training center,” Chase said, taking you to the last stop on the tour. There were a few students scattered around, talking or sparring with each other. “Once a week, we have bionic battles so the students can move up a level. But besides that, they just come in to show off to each other.”

“Hey, Y/n!” Adam called out from across the large room.

“Like now.” Chase rolled his eyes, and the four of you looked at the eldest Davenport. 

“Watch this!” With an excited smile on his lips, Adam bent over and easily picked up a large medicine ball. “This is like a thousand pounds, and it feels like holding a baby. Or Leo.”

“Shut up, Adam,” Leo whined at the comment. Meanwhile, you looked only slightly impressed at Adam’s abilities. Leo shook his head and turned to you. “You know, I’m bionic, too,” he said with a smirk.

“Really?” you asked, slightly surprised. From what you could remember from going to school with the Davenports, Leo seemed pretty normal—well, normal for Leo.

“Just his arm and leg,” Chase corrected, and you turned to look at him curiously, silently asking for more information. “Well, our bionics are microchips implanted in our necks and integrated with our nervous systems. But Leo’s right arm and left leg were destroyed in different incidents, so the damaged pieces were replaced with bionic technology.”

“Oh wow,” you said, completely fascinated. Not with Leo, even though the conversation was about him. It was Chase, and the way he talked made it seem like he was an expert in the subject, and it was easy to recall any piece of information. You suppose that that was true about any subject in the world. “Who did all that?”

“Well-” Leo tried to reenter the conversation but was cut off by Chase.

“The arm was made by Douglas Davenport, who, long story short, is our biological father. And the leg was made by me and Mr. Davenport.”

“You made a bionic leg?” You asked, stepping closer to Chase in your excitement. “How?!” 

Chase smiled, quickly falling into a spiel about how he repaired Leo’s leg with bionic technology. Every now and then, Leo would try to say something, or Adam would try to get your attention by lifting a few thousand pounds. But they quickly realized their attempts were futile because you hung on to every word Chase was giving you, completely captivated by his knowledge and the charisma that radiated off of him because of it.

[onsomenewsht]

now playing: Colorado

< track 2 || track 4 >

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: +1k

》 I'd choose the devil I know over the heaven I don't

The end starts with you finding the ring.

“Alexia, I swear to your good knee, if you’re not ready I’m gonna sell your Ballon d’Or”, your announcement resonating through the rooms. 

You’ve been ready for an entire hour now, beaming and excited for the opportunity to present with your teammates a special award named after your captain. The only thing missing is your perfectionist girlfriend still hidden in the bathroom.

When you open the door, you cannot believe your eyes.

Alexia’s tattooed back is exposed in the criminally low backless dress she’s in, sure, but her hair is still dripping wet and she’s fighting with a makeup brush. Clearly losing, her frown is a well known hint for you. 

She’s not ready and now you have to find your way on the black market.

“Need help?”

“No”

“Yes, vamos a llegar tarde” (we’re late)

“No voy a llegar tarde si ni quiero ir” (I can’t be late if I don’t wanna go in the first place)

Your chuckle filling the room is enough to make the blonde smirk, but you know her well enough to read the subtle lines on her face. Her worries are clear, the reasons to be discovered and a solution to be found.

Taking place behind her figure, you set your hands on her sides and plant a couple of strategically placed kisses on her back and shoulders. Her fitted form relaxes right away under your lips.

When your eyes meet in the mirror it's like a story is being narrated, an understanding of each other that goes beyond big words and great gestures but holds the deep love shared.

Your fingers move to untangle the blonde’s wet hair, taking the time to dry and straighten each lock just as she likes.

“Lo siento” (I’m sorry)

Shy Alexia is a version of her few people meet, her stance a lot less intimidating than the one she portrays on the field or in front of hundreds of cameras. 

“No tienes nada de que arrepentirte, mi corazón” (Nothing to be sorry for)

“I lost time in the gym and I lost time in the shower and I guess I just don’t wanna go”, the English sentence giving away how much thought she put into it. 

The catalan turns to look directly into your eyes for the first time all day, you realise. She really doesn’t want to go to this event, but your excitement and anticipation must have helped hide it throughout the week.

“Eres preciosa, mi amor” (You’re beautiful), she simply states, taking in the perfectly ironed black dress you’re wearing and the meticulously braided hair framing your face.

You smile at her, you love her.

“I know you don’t like the idea of this award, I know you don’t want us handing it to you with a carefully drafted speech”

“¡Lo escribiste!” (You wrote it, didn’t you?)

“Jana helped, all the team did”

Alexia’s eyebrow rises and you don't miss the fact she has a little bit more makeup on than usual, a sight she’s putting an effort.

“I supervised, don’t worry”

“No es reconfortante” (It’s no reassuring)

But her shoulders are relaxed, her frown no longer creasing her beautiful face. The blonde is calmer now and you take it as a victory she never actually asked you to ditch the all thing and hide together under a blanket with a mindless dating show in the background.

“Lo leerás?” (Will you read it?)

“Banned me to even come close to a microphone”, to be fair, it was a single accident and they should’ve not let the anchor’s line open when you just won a championship and your girlfriend’s literally glowing.

She bursts out laughing and you know she’s ready.

Almost ready.

“Take me the white heels while I finish esto”, her fingers moving somehow awkwardly around her mouth, “Y estamos listos!” (And we’re ready to go).

You place a soft but firm kiss on her lips, leaving for her shoes rack.

You’re looking for a pair of heels, one she hates to wear but well designed and a perfect fit with her dress. One she doesn’t wear much so it’s probably hidden in a box in the back of the closet.

That’s why you’re looking for a hidden box of shoes.

That’s where you notice a velvet little box.

That’s how you find the ring.

It’s a beautiful ring. Stunning cut, your precise size. A modest but expertly crafted gem complementing the simple band. It’s the perfect ring.

You don’t like shiny thing, Alexia could ask you to marry her with paper or grass from Camp Nou and you’re gonna say yes regardless.

But that’s exactly the problem.

You love her, you really do. You love her so much you gladly do whatever she asks, if she wants it enough to ask. You keep her love above your own and that’s fine, you’re happy with it. What she loves comes before what you love, naturally following immediately after anyway. 

And what she loves the most is usually you, so you never questioned it. 

However, when her love starts coming despite yours, you realise you can’t keep doing it.

The shift is difficult to perceive, coming at such a silent but excruciating pace that’s impossible to predict and devastating to take in.

The bomb dropped on you in the form of a tiny jewellery box that detonated when opened, shining ring inside.

“Està Narnia?” (You found Narnia?)

Closing the box and effectively concealing the ring from your gaze it’s a switch off. The silence that usually preempts a devastating explosion is coming after it, this one time.

“I’m ready!”

When she walks out of the bathroom, stunning as ever, you just stare. You never loved someone as much as you love her, that is obvious for a while now. 

You never loved and you will never love someone as much as you love her. 

Not even yourself.

“Estás bien?” (Are you okay?)

“T’estimo” (I love you)

Shining eyes almost give away all the meaning behind your words, but the captain fondly kisses you and it’s all good again.

Alexia takes the heels from your hands, when you manage to find them is not clear in your head, and sits on the bed. Your fingers intertwine as you bend on your knees and carefully tie the long white laces around her ankles.

“You good?”, she holds one of your hands and her stare is searching straight through your soul.

She has a ring hidden in a box, how long ago did she buy it?

“Let’s get you this award, mi corazón”

She wants to marry you, when will she ask?

Both your holds are firm and kind, she is calmed and ready. Now, somehow, she’s even happy to go to this event if you keep holding her hand like that.

If she asks, you will say yes.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part One | Series Masterlist

Summary: his music school having been challenged by Riverrun Conservatory, Aemond is given the opportunity to come face to face with their top musician | Word Count: 4.7k~ | Warnings: smut (not with the main female character), toxic relationship, semi-public sex

Nothing quite compared to the low hum, and delicate whine of a cello. It had been that way for some time, ever since he'd discovered it.

Aemond still remembers the look on his mother's face, her chocolate eyes wide with pride and joy, when her son who was still freshly mutilated, resulting in the loss of sight in his left eye, took an interest in playing classical music.

The cello had become more than just an instrument to Aemond; it was his refuge, his voice in a world that had grown suddenly more silent and unforgiving. The accident had not just taken half his sight but had cast a shadow over his once bright future. Music, however, brought light back into his life, offering a path forward that he had never anticipated.

The Targaryen name, synonymous with power and prestige in other realms, here lent an aura of intrigue and expectation to his performances. Yet, it was Aemond's own skill, the raw emotion he channelled through the strings of his cello, that captivated audiences. His music was a blend of classical elegance and a palpable intensity that seemed to stem from the very depths of his being.

And Aemond was nothing if not a perfectionist at heart.

He perfected everything, to the point of madness some felt. And if he had not invited a feeling of deep, primal intrigue from every performance he gave, then what was the point? This innocent hobby at first, honed by his parents and caregivers alike, was now a way of life. A career. Something to strive for.

As he became older, this competitive nature never wavered once. He embraced it like a challenge to be met. And the conductor of this prestigious school, Otto Hightower, both a friend of his father, Viserys, a business giant well-known across all of Westeros, and conveniently his grandfather, expected nothing short of the best from his prodigious grandson.

He was never self-conscious either, even if he was easily noticeable and stared upon everywhere he went. And one might expect little attention from the opposite sex in a world of classical music and elegant instruments, but for Aemond this could not have been less true.

He attracted in every show, not only with his talent but with his haunting appearance. The straight long scar through his left eye was struck in the middle by a pale blue pupil, his other seeing eye stark in comparison. Women would watch his slender fingers strike fear, passion and energy into their hearts, wishing the very same could grip at their skin.

To their frustrations, he never acted on this popularity.

Alys Rivers was the only woman he ever reciprocated affections of some kind for. At least two decades his senior, his family had been less than impressed at her presence in his life. But there was no choice on their part. Aemond had made his, and Alys Rivers, like it or not, was his muse. A classical music lover at heart. And a professional critic no less.

One might be forgiven for thinking they disliked each other, they rarely exhibited romance. She was more akin to his manager than anyone else, critiquing his manner of playing and giving advice where he didn't want it. And he rewarded her, away from the prying eyes of the public, with quick, angry sex, exerting what control he did have, into intimacy.

She, like him, had a haunting presence to her, but one less mysterious. More overtly seductive. And though sometimes it seemed to irk Aemond, some felt as if they were still acquainted by convenience if nothing else.

Aemond always arrived early to Kings Landing Music College. The stuffy, wood-panelled room gave some semblance of comfort. There was something about the acoustics, the closeness, that felt almost womb-like. Safe. Familiar.

Meticulously, tuning his cello, he half-listened to the skinny, pink-faced Blackwood, practicing at the same time, “sound like a fucking dying pig.”

“Half dying,” Aemond murmured, with a roll of his eyes.

Otto waltzed in, clad in black slacks and a loose forest-green jumper, “Blackwood, get your fucking instrument in tune please. Fucking Cole could do a better job in violas.”

Criston twirled two Timpani sticks between his fingers, giving a look of mock offence from across the room, “just because I'm over here doesn't mean I can't hear you-”

“Alright, alright, before we begin today’s practice, I have an announcement,” Otto declared, his voice commanding attention. The room quickly fell silent, the anticipation palpable in the air.

“We’ve been challenged to a competition by the Riverrun Conservatory,” Otto revealed, his eyes sweeping across the room, measuring the reaction to his words. The announcement ignited a buzz among the musicians, the rivalry between the schools notorious for its intensity. 

“This isn’t just any friendly showcase. It’s a direct confrontation on neutral ground at the upcoming city arts festival. We will be judged on technique, emotional expression, and the complexity of our performance.”

Aemond’s pulse quickened. Riverrun Conservatory had a formidable reputation, known for their strict discipline and innovative performances. The thought of competing against them stirred a mix of excitement and nerve.

Otto’s gaze swept over the room, lingering for a moment on Aemond, then moving on. “I want crispness, I want emotion, and above all, I want precision. We will begin selecting the repertoire tomorrow. Today, I want everyone to focus on their sections. I expect perfection and I will accept nothing less than your best.”

With a decisive turn, Otto left the rehearsal space, his footsteps echoing his determination. The room erupted into whispers and hurried discussions; the stakes had been set.

Blackwood sighed, stress gnawing and weighing on his face. “Fuck me, no pressure then.”

“Don't fucking shit yourself. It's only Riverrun,” a lanky guy mumbled behind his flute.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

Aemond tuned his cello once more, a determined glint in his eye. He was eager to prove himself, not just as a formidable cellist, but as a key player in leading his school to victory. As the rehearsal began, the sounds of strings, woodwinds, and brass filled the room, each musician pouring their heart into the notes.

Aemond knew that every session, every note, would count. The festival was not just another performance; it was a proving ground. And he was ready to claim his place on it.

With his cello perched on his back as if it were an extension of himself, Aemond strode toward Otto’s office. The familiar weight of the instrument reassured him, steadying his nerves as he prepared to discuss the imminent arrival of their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Upon reaching the heavy oak door, Aemond knocked with a confident rhythm and was quickly greeted by Otto, who peered out from behind a mountain of musical scores. His deep-set eyes and beard, more salt than pepper, gave him an air of aged wisdom.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Otto asked, noticing the urgency in Aemond's posture.

Stepping inside, Aemond carefully leaned his cello against the wall. "I've heard that Riverrun will be arriving tomorrow to practise here, in preparation for the festival. They’ll be using some of our facilities. I wanted to discuss how we can use this to our advantage, especially since their star pianist is said to be among them."

Otto raised an eyebrow, a slight grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Perhaps he saw the cunning nature reflected in his grandson he perceived in himself.

"Indeed, they will be here. It’s a rare opportunity to observe them up close, to learn their strengths and possibly their weaknesses. We’ve managed to arrange different practice times to ensure there’s no direct overlap, but our paths will certainly cross."

Aemond nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. "If we could subtly observe their practice sessions, we might glean insights into their preparation and techniques. It could inform our strategy and help us focus our rehearsals where we need the most work."

Otto walked over to his desk and shuffled some papers, revealing a schedule. "Here are the timings. Riverrun’s sessions are slotted just after ours in the adjacent rooms. It’s crucial we keep our interactions professional, but keep your eyes and ears open. Understand how their pianist integrates with their ensemble— it’s not just about her solo performance."

"Should we consider adjusting our pieces or rehearsal focus based on what we learn?" Aemond asked, his voice low.

"Potentially," Otto responded, tapping his fingers on the desk. "But let’s not be hasty. First, observe. See if there’s a particular piece they struggle with or excel in. We’ll adjust our strategy based on solid evidence, not assumptions."

Aemond felt a surge of tactical excitement. "I’ll make sure our section leaders are discreet but observant. We can use this chance to refine our performance to outshine theirs."

"Exactly," Otto agreed, handing Aemond a copy of the schedule. "Use this opportunity wisely. We need every edge we can get against Riverrun. Remember, they are guests in our school, so maintain the highest standards of respect and professionalism at all times."

With a firm nod, Aemond picked up his cello, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. As he left Otto’s office, he knew the next few days could define the outcome of the festival. The challenge was daunting, but Aemond was ready to lead his school not just to compete, but to win.

Aemond was barely through the front door of his apartment before Alys was barraging him with questions. Her fine lips were lacquered with red, fingernails painted a charcoal black as she poured herself a coffee.

“I heard about the competition. Riverrun is notorious. Sure you can handle it?” She smirked behind the rim of her cup.

He sighed, setting down his cello, “yes, I can fucking handle it.” That was his only response before sinking into the sofa, laying his head flat back against the sofa, eyes shut, as if he wanted her to disappear.

He was somewhat ashamed to admit the way he tensed and then relaxed at the way her fingers expertly kneaded his shoulders, massaging the stress from him. But even more so as they trailed down, sharp nails ghosting over his neck had his lips parting and his trousers growing tight.

“Now, now. You know I only want you to do better,” she cooed, “and you will get better, with the right critique.”

He could hear her smile, her tone light and sensual as she trailed off.

Aemond turned his head and looked up at her where she was looming over him, her thumbs still pushing circles on his sore muscles.

“Critique?”

Alys’s lips curved up in a knowing smile, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that seemed to pierce through his weariness. Her green, emerald like eyes, were like daggers, hooking and reeling him in somewhere dark.

"Of course, critique," she murmured, her voice a melodious blend of challenge and tease. "Every artist needs it, even the great Aemond Targaryen. Especially with Riverrun breathing down our necks."

She moved around the sofa with the grace of a cat, setting her coffee down on the table before moving her legs either side of him, brushing her clothed core beneath her skirt against his growing hardness. "I watch, I listen, and I provide feedback that no one else dares to give you."

Aemond sighed, shifting to look at her more directly. The red of her lips was stark against the softer hue of her face, a deliberate pop of colour that matched the sharpness in her words. "And how exactly does your 'feedback' help me tonight?" he asked, his tone a mix of scepticism and intrigue.

"It helps because it makes you think. It makes you feel. Isn't that what music is about?" Alys replied, her hands now moving down from his shoulders, her fingers tracing lines across his chest through his shirt. "Besides, seeing you tense up like that, only to melt under my touch—it tells me where you're holding back. Not just here," she said, pressing briefly into a particularly tight spot. Then, her touch sank to his belt, then drifting lower and stroking his growing erection, teasing his length slowly. 

"But here too."

Her approach was intoxicating, a dangerous mix of personal care and professional critique. "You're brilliant, Aemond, but even brilliance can be polished," she continued, leaning in to whisper against his ear. "Let me polish you, make you shine brighter. Let me push you to be the best, and then push a little harder."

Aemond felt the dual edges of her influence—the softness of her caress, the hard truth in her critique. It was a manipulation he allowed, perhaps even welcomed. Her presence was woven into his life, a thread that was both comforting and controlling. Sometimes too tight. 

With two needy hands on her buttocks, he rolled up her skirt around her hips, dipping between her welcoming thighs, his ego somewhat inflated to find she was wet already. Alys did little else in reaction than assisting to undo his belt, taking his hard length in her hand and seductively massaging from base to tip.

He pulled her forcefully against him, fingers dug into her pale skin as she hovered over him and sank slowly, splitting herself open on his cock with a practised moan. Her hips moved instinctually, stretching to accommodate his thickness over and over. 

Between grunts and curses, Aemond was rarely vocal. Sex was a way to dispel frustration and invite inspiration in his clear head afterwards. Alys could be anyone. But he had to admit, he found her interesting, if not for her advice.

Her manicured and rounded nails dug into his neck as Alys moved on him with vigour, one hand stealing between them to circle her bud to try and hurtle herself towards completion.

It had occurred to Aemond that she was similarly using him in the same way.

With a bruising grip around her waist, Aemond jutted up into her shakily, coming hard within Alys’ quivering walls in the aftermath of her orgasm. And once she gained her breath, she peeled his hands off her as if he were suffocating. His member slid out of her, softened and slick with her moisture.

Alys straightened, stepping back to observe him, her eyes assessing as she wiggled her skirt back down. "Tomorrow, I'll come to the rehearsal. I want to see how you handle yourself with Riverrun watching. I'll be watching too, taking notes." Her tone was playful yet serious, a reminder of her dual role in his life.

As she retreated to the kitchen, Aemond lay there, a part of him resenting the ease with which she shifted roles from lover to critic, yet another part eager to prove himself worthy of her praise, his heart going fast still in the aftermath of their hastened sex.

 He knew that Alys's critiques, though wrapped in seduction, were aimed at forging him into a sharper, more formidable musician. In the complex symphony of their relationship, her motives played out in chords, each note crafted to challenge and change him.

The next day dawned crisp and clear, the early morning sun casting long shadows over the grounds of the music school. The building was abuzz with the nervous energy of anticipation, the air vibrating with the undertones of an impending musical clash.

As he made his way through the corridors to the rehearsal room, he could hear the murmur of voices, the tuning of instruments, and the occasional burst of laughter or a sharp command. Today, the halls of his own school would play host not just to its students but also to their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Aemond entered the rehearsal room to find it already half-filled with his peers, each one keenly aware of the significance of the day. The room was set up with chairs and stands arranged in a precise semi-circle, awaiting the arrival of the Riverrun musicians.

Before long, the members of Riverrun Conservatory began to filter in, their expressions a mix of confident smiles and cautious glances. The room's atmosphere thickened with the tangible sense of competition, each group eyeing the other, assessing and reassessing.

Amid this tense backdrop, Alys slipped into the room, a notepad clutched in her hand and a pen poised for action. Her presence was a sharp reminder to Aemond of the dual aspects of their relationship. She caught his eye and offered a slight nod, an unspoken signal that she was here in her professional capacity.

The rehearsal began with Otto taking the lead, his voice firm as he called for attention. "Let's begin with a warm-up. Remember, while we share our space today, let's show our guests the level of excellence we strive for."

Aemond took his place, settling his cello between his knees. His fingers danced over the strings, tuning with meticulous care, his gaze occasionally drifting to the Riverrun musicians who were setting up nearby. Among them, he noticed a young woman, stood between two other boys who looked over her at one another with smug smiles. They were most certainly either violinists or cellists. But the woman between them, he saw, had such delicate fingers, this had to be the pianist he had heard so much about.

All watched them perform with a sort of challenging, stoic expression, as if judging every movement, every chord and sound made. Every choice scrutinised. In the corner of his eye, between glances at the music, Aemond noticed Alys scribbling down notes.

And when their performance came to an end, Riverrun Conservatory clapped, alongside their conductor, Lyonel Strong. He was burly, red-cheeked, strict but well-meaning, as far as Aemond had heard. But the way he and Otto Hightower looked at one another was akin to some secret rivalry nobody else was privy to.

Alys slid up to Aemond’s side as he began to tidy his instrument away, her presence immediately electric. “See that man?” she whispered, nodding subtly towards Lyonel. “He conducts with his heart on his sleeve, not a metronome like Otto. That’s why they play with such passion. It’s infectious, captivating.”

Aemond nodded, absorbing her analysis. He knew of her critical acumen, but there was a personal edge to her voice now. “You sound almost admiring,” he observed, watching her closely.

Alys’s expression darkened slightly, her emerald eyes flitting back to Lyonel. “I might admire his style, but not the man. Not after everything.” She sighed, a sound more resigned than angry. “He might be the maestro of emotions, Aemond, but off that podium, he’s a different story.”

Aemond did not inquire further. If he was being truthful with himself, he didn't much care for Alys' personal grievances.

“Keep a close eye on their cellist,” Alys warned from the sidelines, watching Riverrun tune and start up their instruments for their own warm up.

As Riverrun began their performance, Aemond’s attention initially settled on the cellist, analysing his fluid technique and the rich emotion flowing from his strings. However, his focus soon drifted to the pianist, who was poised before her instrument like a painter in front of a blank canvas. Her movements were almost ethereal, feather-like, as her fingers danced across the keys, each note floating into the air with a delicate precision that seemed to transcend the mechanics of the piano itself.

The pianist's performance captivated Aemond, her connection with the music evident in the subtle sway of her body and the gentle closing of her eyes as she played. It was more than mere execution, it was an embodiment of the piece, a true manifestation of feeling and artistry.

Alys, standing beside Aemond, watched the pianist with a discerning eye. After a moment, she leaned closer to Aemond and whispered, "See how she plays? It’s like she’s not just striking notes, but weaving a spell. Each touch is thoughtful, precise yet so naturally expressive."

Aemond nodded, fully absorbed in the performance. He could see what Alys meant—the pianist wasn’t just playing, she was performing in a way that made the piano speak directly to the audience. It was an inspiring display of how technique served as the foundation for emotional expression.

"Her approach is impressive," Alys continued, her voice a mix of professional respect and genuine admiration. "That’s what we need to aim for, Aemond. It’s not just about the notes, but how you make them feel alive, how you connect them to the listener’s soul."

Watching the pianist, Aemond felt a surge of inspiration mixed with a competitive drive. He realised that this was the standard he needed to meet and exceed. The way the pianist’s performance resonated in the room, how it seemed to stir the hearts of all who listened, including his own—it set a clear benchmark.

As the piece drew to a close, and the final note lingered in the air, a hushed silence fell over the room before applause erupted. The pianist looked up, her expression serene, almost surprised by the intensity of the audience’s reaction.

Aemond clapped, his applause thoughtful, infused with a newfound respect and a burning motivation. He turned to Alys, a determined look in his eyes. "I see it now," he said. "But she's nothing special. Our pianist is just as good."

“Just as good isn't enough. We have to be better. We need to surpass them—to be so outstanding that Riverrun feels like just a prelude to our performance. They shouldn’t just be impressed by us; they should be overwhelmed."

Aemond’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he processed her words. He watched the pianist from Riverrun mingle with the crowd, her presence still resonating with the lingering notes of her performance.

The shy, timid prodigy. A story written a million times. He felt as if he saw right through her, and no way was that washing with him.

“Meet me in the supply room before lunch,” Alys whispered, turning on her heel before Aemond could reply. The swing of her hips as she moved towards the Riverrun musicians and indication of what she wanted from him. All she ever wanted from him.

Aemond merely watched on from the sidelines, arms crossed. Alys mingled with them all, shaking their hands and wishing them luck in the weeks of practice and competitiveness to come. And when she finally shook the hand of the pianist, his gaze flickered between his lover and the delicate frame of this stranger he had yet to know.

Everything about her was different to Alys. She wore sheer black tights, and sensible shoes. Her skirt was flowy and ended mid tight, covered only at the top by her high-necked top, also black. And it was here he recognised a similarity in her and Aemond's dress sense.

Alys on the other hand exuded sexuality. Tight fitting skirts and dresses, no tights and heels at least four inches high. And while Alys wore a sleek straight style, the pianist was loose and free, if not slightly frizzy.

He watched the two women talking animatedly. Alys no doubt congratulating her on how well she plays.

He'd never been in more need of a cigarette then right at this moment.

“I apologise for him, he’s usually more expressive on stage than off,” Alys joked lightly as they approached, teasing Aemond in her usual manner.

The pianist extended her hand to Aemond with a firm, confident grip that surprised him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve seen your performances online,” she stated, her tone straightforward, skipping the usual pleasantries. Her directness was refreshing yet unexpected.

Aemond took her hand, a bit taken aback by her assertiveness. “Thank you,” he responded, realising only after the words left his mouth that she hadn’t actually complimented his work, just acknowledged it. “Your performance today was quite remarkable.”

“Thank you,” she replied, nodding politely, her smile brief. There was no reciprocal flattery, no effusive praise—just a clear, concise acknowledgment.

Her straightforwardness intrigued Aemond. It was rare for him to encounter someone who didn’t engage in the typical exchange of mutual admiration among peers, especially when one had just praised the other. Her confidence and lack of concern for social niceties made him rethink the usual dance of compliments that often felt more obligatory than genuine.

Their exchange maintained a professional veneer, but Aemond felt a distinct chill in the air as the pianist held his gaze with an unyielding intensity.

“I'm interested. How do you prepare for a performance of this calibre?” She asked in a probing manner, clasping her hands behind her back. And when she swept her hair out her face, a dash of her perfume hit him, light and floral, he noted.

“I focus deeply on the composition's technical demands," he responded crisply, his voice carrying a cool, almost detached quality. "Emotional expression is secondary to flawless execution.”

She bit back a smile he noticed before she could hide it, “that is quite a disciplined approach.”

"It’s the only way to ensure a performance is beyond reproach," he stated flatly, eyes scanning the room. "Judges appreciate perfection.”

“And the audience?”

He shrugged, “whether they do or not, it doesn't change my approach.”

She nodded, leaving a long pause, as if laying a trap, “interesting,” she mused, "I always believed that connecting with the audience was the true measure of a performance’s success."

“Emotions are too subjective.”

Alys, sensing the growing tension, interjected with a light laugh. "Aemond here is all about the technicalities when it comes to music. He believes in precision over passion."

The pianist tilted her head slightly, considering his response with an analytical gaze before a playful glimmer appeared in her eyes. “Are all aspects of your life subject to such rules?” her tone light, but probing. “Musicians are usually branded as romantics, after all.”

Aemond's brow twitched, a subtle annoyance. “There is a time and a place. In a competition, it's about control. Discipline.”

She hummed, slightly amused, “how practical. Does it not get lonely, striving so often for perfection?”

He shrugs, “it doesn't matter. Wins are measurable, feelings not so.”

“Musicians are not remembered for their wins. They're remembered for the feelings they tease out of people.”

Aemond’s gaze held steady, impressed by her ability to intertwine light-hearted banter with serious debate. “Maybe so, but I’d rather be remembered for setting records than stirring hearts.”

There was a long pause, her eyes never leaving him as if trying to piece together a delicate and intricate puzzle. And she had to bite her lip to contain her smile, simmering frustration in his chest.

“Interesting,” she mused, releasing her lip from between her teeth.

She finally broke their intense gaze, stepping back slightly as she prepared to leave. "Thank you for the conversation, Aemond. It was... enlightening," she said, her tone serious and reflective. "I'll be interested to see how your focus on the technicalities plays out in the competition. Good luck."

With a formal nod, she turned and walked away, her demeanour composed and professional. Aemond watched her rejoin her group, the interaction leaving him with a lingering sense of disquiet. Her straightforward, no-nonsense approach had challenged his views subtly yet profoundly, pushing him to reconsider the balance between technique and emotion in his performances.

Something he'd considered very little.

And as he fucked out his frustrations with Alys in the supply room, pushing her front against the wall and plunging into the tight warmth and solitude she offered, the encounter had ignited a new sense of challenge within him, or perhaps it was a hint of doubt, unsettling the confidence he had always felt in his methodical approach to music.

The usual clarity with which he viewed his musical career was now clouded with questions, thanks to a simple yet impactful exchange. It was a confrontation of ideals that made him both wary and intrigued.

It was clear now that the competition had escalated to more than just notes and rhythms—it was a clash of philosophies, a duel of passion in dual meaning.

And he was prepared to meet it head on.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince

[hobie-enthusiast]

UNLIKELY CLASH !

— rulebreaker!hobie brown x perfectionist!gn!reader

— enemies to lovers, swearing (more than last and fuck too), mutual pining, making out, small bit of harassment, rebellious teens, confused feelings, getting together

— hobie brown was everything you weren’t, so maybe that’s what attracted the two of you together so well (pt. 2)

— here part two gang! honestly i have an idea for part three in mind but if that’s something u honestly want pls lmk asap

— part 1 | part 2 (here) | part 3

The next couple of weeks were.. odd between you and Hobie.

Even after a heartfelt confession about the pressure you felt, you still had a reputation to uphold. You kept treating him the way you normally did; ignoring him and pretending he didn’t exist.

At first, this didn't really bother Hobie. He was used to chasing after you, messing with you and poking fun at the student council president. But he was getting bored. The small bits of making you late to class or taking up your time were amusing, but he wanted more of a reaction from you.

When he started interacting less and less, you grew confused. As much as you hated to admit it, you liked the attention and small interactions.

Though it was small, being late and skipping class (very rarely at this point), made you excited. It made you feel.. alive in a way.

But all that was dissipating. And you were upset about it.

You sat in your room after a long school day, mindlessly scrolling through your computer. Your parents had asked that you try and find a prom outfit, but that became boring really quick. You could never wear something truly exciting; just some fancy outfit plain coloured with fancy hair.

A knock on your window startled you from your thoughts. Glancing out, you see Hobie looking in, motioning for you to open the window. You walk over confused, deciding to open the window.

"Brown? It's.." You glance back at your alarm clock. "..10 pm. What are you doing here?"

"Awe, come on sweetheart. After such a confession, shouldn't we be on a first name basis?" He says, inviting himself into your room.

You scoff. "One, no, as you don't use my first name. And two, you can't be here! My parents are right down the hall!"

Hobie shrugged as he looked around your room, analyzing the decor. He noticed the clean desk you had, along with a neat bookshelf of many scientific books and knick-knacks. It suited you, every detail down to the way your game console sat neatly on your TV stand, not a speck of dust in sight.

"Did you show up just to judge my room?"

Hobie shook his head. "Nah, came t' ask ya somethin'." He said, sitting on your desk chair. "Up for an adventure?"

"Excuse me?" You question, taking a seat across from him on your bed. "When?"

"Now."

You know Hobie was.. absolutely crazy in some ways. But this? Going on a random adventure on a Friday night, and asking the person he wants to go with by entering their room via window was.. not the kind of crazy you would categorize him as.

You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms. "You serious right now?"

"As serious as I always am." He responds with a shrug. "'s up to you. We'll be gone 'till tomorrow. Either 'u're up for a challenge or not."

A challenge he says? Hobie knew that you could be riled up from being challenged to do something. Perfectionists always had to win in his eyes.

And he was right.

"Give me five minutes."

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Next thing you knew, you were on a train from your isolated little town to Brooklyn itself. Hobie blindly led you onto a train, told you to not worry about tickets, then let the train take you both to the destination in mind.

Of course Hobie remembered what you said at the tree. He had been holding onto it for a while now. He knew you wanted to go to a city, do whatever you wanted, just for a little bit. And he was going to be the one to give that to you. Why? Well, that's a question he couldn't answer for himself.

"Brooklyn?" You questioned, looking out of the train window. "Why Brooklyn?"

"You said it under the tree. Ya wanted to go to the city, no?"

You nodded slowly, looking back out the window with a small smile. Of course you were flattered that he remembered your words. At least, you were hoping he did, you practically poured your feelings out.

Once the train stopped, you both stepped out of the station to admire the tall buildings towering over you. Hobie couldn’t help but be amused at the way your eyes shined at the new scenery. He practically came here everyday.

But he couldn’t tell you that. Not without plausible answers to the inevitable questions.

“So..” You turn to look at him, eyes still bright. “What do we do?”

He shrugs, hands in his vest pockets. “Whatever ya want. ‘s ‘ur day, no?”

"But I don't know where to go. I've never been to the city before."

Hobie's eyes widened for a moment, shocked at your words. You were really so sheltered you hadn't been to the city right beside your town? The thought alone was crazy to Hobie. He never understood why adults were so.. controlling.

He sighs, walking ahead. "Follow me then. I'll show ya ‘round."

And so you did just that. You followed Hobie around the city, taking in the sights he's showing you. All around the city, passing and weaving through people, making sure you had a nice time.

There was something you noticed. Before Hobie took you somewhere, he provided you with options on where to go. He didn't force you to go one place with him. He didn't strictly follow an itinerary. He always asked what you wanted to do, giving you full control of the day.

It was.. refreshing. This sense of freedom was exactly what you needed. To feel the fresh air of the city without worrying about impressing anyone. Hobie wasn't judging you, and you certainly weren't judging yourself.

The end of the day came quicker than your liking, and the two of you were on the rooftop of an apartment complex. The sun was setting behind the tall buildings, and Hobie brought the two of you some noodles to eat (he definitely didn't steal them).

You take a bite, setting the cup down with a sigh. "Today was.. actually really nice. I don't think I ever felt that, free before, if that makes sense?"

"Don't worry, you can say it." Hobie said, nudging your arm.

You roll your eyes with a small smile. "Mm.. guess I can. Thanks, Brown."

"Y'know, you can call me 'obie, swee'heart." He responded, shrugging. "'s better than m' last name, I think."

"I can't give you that satisfaction. Not yet."

Hobie raised an eyebrow, a shit-eating smirk crossing his face. "Yet?"

You're ready to correct yourself, but the words die in your throat. You couldn't help but like the sound of "yet". It meant more time with Hobie.. and you enjoyed that. Hobie's company was something you were starting to crave. Almost like a drug.

Hobie glanced over at you. "Gotta admit, didn't expect ya t' come with me. Considerin' 'ur parents don't know ya snuck out."

“Yeah well..” You sigh, looking out onto the building with a soft smile. “Maybe I just needed something different.” You finish, looking over at Hobie.

You’re suddenly very aware of how close the two of you are to each other. Hobie’s eyes flicker; your eyes, your mouth, and back a couple times. It’s almost like.. he was asking you for something. The longer you both stared, the more tempted he became, and you honestly couldn’t blame him.

So why did you pull away?

As soon as he started leaning in, you pulled back, clearing your throat. His eyes widen before narrowing, scoffing gently. Guess he misread the situation.

You really couldn’t tell him he didn’t.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The next weeks Hobie Brown didn’t show up to school.

You had a feeling you were the cause. Brushing him off like that was such a dick move on your part. You knew that. You wanted nothing more than to find him and run to him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

But you couldn’t. You had an image to maintain. A reputation. All the trust you worked so hard to accumulate would go down the drain in an instant.

Of course.. Hobie may be worth that.

Hobie to you is worth that risk. All his rule breaking and crazed adventures are just what you need in your life. Something that gives you the freedom you longed for.

But you had to go and screw it up. And now here you were, three weeks after the incident, at your locker with a guy trying to talk you up.

“C’mon, [Name], just one night! It’ll change your life!”

You groan, slamming the locker shut. “Dude, I said no. Can you stop?”

“Why? I gotta know why!” He persisted, grabbing your wrist as you tried walking away.

You yank your arm away, trying to escape. “I don’t owe you that! Let me go.”

“Not until you-”

“Hey.”

You turn at the sudden voice, shocked at who it belonged to. There stood Hobie Brown, eyes filled with anger.

“They said, let go.” He said, grabbing the guy’s arm and yanking it away. “Learn t’ take a hint, aye?”

The guy’s eyes narrowed. “And who do you think you are, Brown? Their boyfriend?”

“As a matter of fac’-”

Then, Hobie turns you to him, bringing your lips to his. No warning, no asking, nothing. Just does what he’s been craving after three weeks of disappearance.

Everyone in the hallway around you two watched with shocked faces. Nobody could have seen this coming, not even you.

A thousand thoughts rushed through your head as Hobie kissed you, but one screamed to push away. So you did, giving him a shocked look before grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the scene. You drag him to a storage closet, shutting the door.

“Brown, what the hell was that?!” You immediately ask, eyes narrowed. “What, do you disappear for three weeks then kiss every person you were hanging out with? What the hell?”

Hobie sighed, leaning against a shelf behind him. “Guy needed t’ be taught a lesson. Made sure he won’t bother ya.”

“I can do that on my own!” You respond, shoving an accusing finger in his chest. “Where have you been?!”

“Thinkin’.” Is all he responds with.

You groan. “For three weeks? Shit Hobie, I..” You words fall short. You want to say it.. squeeze it out. “I.. missed you.”

Hobie’s eyes widened as he takes in your words. You.. missed him? He never would have seen this coming; a confession from the president in a dingy storage closet? Not on his bucket list.

Your eyes watch Hobie, doing that same pattern he did on the rooftop; eyes, mouth, eyes. You wanted to kiss him again.. feel those lips again on yours. No.. you needed it.

You know what? Fuck this perfect image.

You grab onto Hobie's vest, pulling him in to connect your lips. Your rough with your movements at first, closing your eyes tightly and latching onto him with a white-knuckle grip. Hobie's eyes widened for a moment before they showed a more prideful look, kissing you back with just as much emotion.

His hands find placement on your lower back, pulling you into him as the kiss escalates from one to many. Hobie was like a starved man, slotting his leg in between yours to support you, pushing you back against the shelf and knocking over some cleaning supplies.

That could be fixed later.

Your original intention of one passionate kiss to show him how you felt turned into many heated kisses. The bell for class was drowned out by how into the moment you both were.

“Fuck.. Hobie..” You whisper, diving back in for another kiss.

Hobie groaned in turn, pulling you impossibly closer. “Shit sweetheart.. can’t say m’ name like that.”

“Hmm.. why’s that..?”

“‘s gonna drive me crazy..”

Suddenly, the doorknob to the closet rattles, causing you both to pull away. Your eyes go wide as Hobie grabs it from where he stands, bringing one finger to his lips to make you stay quiet.

The person on the other side tries to open the door, but ultimately fails. They groan and mumble something before walking away. Hobie looks over at your expression, a small laugh escaping his lips.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He whispers, planting a kiss to your jaw. “Or are ya gonna keep pretendin’ you’re too good for it?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you take his hand. "Nah, not this time. Come on."

some ppl who wanted to be tagged (🫶): @serenn08 | @rksses | @youronlyauthor | @dotheyevenknowmars | @xoxobabe

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Helloo!

Idk if you take requests , but could you maybe write a fic with Human!Alastor and male!reader where reader exaggerates his whole personality to comply with everyone else and is easily exhausted from it and Alastor "relaxses" reader in that way ?

Thank you in advance and have a good day !

Alastor - [ MASQUERADE ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

A/N: This request really made me brainstorm but I've decided to break it into 2 parts. I hope you'll enjoy it! As always kindly lmk the artist of the fanart so I can tag them and give proper credit! ❤️

WARNINGS: [ SLIGHT NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SUGGESTIVE THEMES ] + [ MALE READER ] + [ FLUFF…if you squint ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

“You're on air in ten minutes, Y/n. Pick it up before the host gets restless!”

Your so-called manager barked from the dressing room doorway, giving one last glare your way before strutting off, grumbling a string of curses you'd learned to ignore.

“Asshole…” you scoffed, turning back to the striped mirror of your vanity; the large bulbs that lit it gave enough light in the old stuffy backstage space, illuminating every detail of your appearance.

Not one thing could be out of place.

You wouldn't allow it, committed to your role as a rising preformer in the golden age of the stage, and conditioned to perfectionist standards from years of tribulations

Suffering behind a practiced smile won you your stardom. The ambiguous beauty you possessed helped immensely in your success on the silver screen, but the truest contributor to your fame was appeal.

Humourous, intellectual, but most crucial, sex appeal.

That's what kept your admires enthralled, permanently put you in the limelight from the start, and inevitably earned you considerable amounts of money.

You weren't opposed to being called a child of Dionysus himself, envied by those who wanted you. Still, the burden of putting on a show for everyone every day without giving them a glimpse of your faults was excruciating.

Yet, you chose the burden over sulking in the darkness, remaining among the ordinary when you so clearly had the makings of a star, and your status of high popularity among the masses was proof of it.

So be it if your cheeks ached from smiling at frivolous fans that your laugh sounded less like your own the more you forced it, that flirtations of others felt like empty praises, or that every project you agreed to felt less and less stimulating.

So fucking be it.

Fame is fickle; you knew this all too well, but your existence felt meaningless without it.

Empty.

All the world's riches, the undivided favor you garnered from the public, and the sparkling awards cluttered your penthouse display shelves…

Even with all that at your fingertips, you had yet to feel seen…

Seen and truly adored.

“Two fucking minutes! Get your ass in position. This interview is being broadcast live, remember?” your manager harped at you from the hall, causing you to grunt in frustration before yelling back, “Would you shut your trap?! Fucking hell…I'm coming!”

You set aside the whiskey glass in your left hand, ran your right through your recently styled hair, and checked your reflection one last time.

“It's only a radio show. One little interview and you can go home and get black-out drunk…” the idea of spending some much-deserved time alone after running around doing a press tour brought a sad smile to your face as you stood and exited the dim room.

This would be your last stop, an interview with Louisiana’s prided radio host, and the last person you'd need to put a show on for before returning home.

“Finally…” your manager grumbled as you stepped into the hall, giving you a once over as the two of you strolled down the hall towards the host recording area, “Don't fuck this up. People say this ones a real talker and can make or break ya..” he mumbled begrudgingly.

You paid his incessant pestering no mind, flashing him a suave smile as you both stopped before a heavy door, “Don't tell me you're starting to care about my reputation now? Thought you only saw me as a nice money grab…”

Your smile grew as laughter bubled in your chest, seeing the other slowly become agitated at your backhanded comments.

“Why, you little-”

“Oh, don't be rude, sir. You'll spoil my good mood, and god knows sour spirits bring bad luck,” you smirked, enjoying the scrunch of his nose as his expression reflected his true nature, but before he could snap, you pushed the door open and slipped into the soundproofed station room.

What a fucking pain he is…

You cursed the raging man outside, sighing softly as the sound of jazz lingered through the air and the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with a distinct cologne engulfed you.

The space felt and looked inviting, relaxing even, but what caught your attention was the man who occupied it.

He sat in a desk chair across the small room, facing a table full of controls and a mic to match. His face was lowered from the device, glasses resting comfortably on the bridge of his nose as he stared at what you assumed was a script for your conversation with him, but the simmering amazement overtook your curiosity about the paper he held you felt hearing him hum along to the song he was airing.

You didn't dare move an inch closer, satisfied with watching and listening to him from afar, oddly entrapped by the silent allure he cast.

It was no mystery that people loved the sound of his voice. You'd be fooling yourself if you said you hadn't found his commentary enchanting, but looking at him in the flesh, you were sure he'd flourish on the silver screen like no other.

He could indeed win the eyes of many…

Yours especially, and to some degree, he had already, but you hesitated to admit it even as he turned to face you.

Oh…. he is a beauty, that's for sure…

That was the singular thought in your mind as he smiled, standing from his seat before approaching you with all the confidence you'd merely portrayed.

“Hello there. You must be Y/n L/n. I'm Alastor Hartifelt. It's a pleasure to meet you, my friend!”

His voice was as smooth, melting into the background melodies inexplicably, and your heart lightened immensely as he held out a hand for you to shake.

“The..the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hartifelt..” you inwardly scolded your delayed greeting, losing track of your practiced charm relatively quickly in his grasp. Still, in seconds, you recovered from the blunder while returning his smile.

Alastor took you in with a glance up and down your figure, cataloging every detail of your appearance out of habit, but when his gaze met yours, one thought crossed his perceptive mind.

Longing?

How curious…

You hid the familiar emotion well; seeing past the veil of contentment wasn't tricky, and though he was tempted to bring it forth.

You two shook hands briefly but firmly. Alastor stepped back, gliding his hand out to mention towards the recording station. “Come, have a seat, and please call me Alastor. We will be on air after all; formalities aren't necessary for an engaging broadcast.” His smile grew, emitting an unearthly kindness as you nodded in understanding before sitting in the chair opposite his.

“You make an excellent point, Alastor. I hope we enjoy each other's company.” You chuckle softly, feeling a tad nervous for a reason unknown but genuinely harboring a rise in excitement, hearing him respond promptly.

“I have no doubt we will…” Alastor muses more to himself, a delicate edge to his voice as he trailed behind you, and a certain twinge of intrigue rattled your spine at the implication.

For the first time in a long time, you weren't dreading the inclinations of your fame, gradually succumbing to the sparks of joy Alastor evoked with the most straightforward words and becoming surer of the fact as he took his seat next to you.

“Shall we begin?” he implies cheekily, and you reply in a quick, witty fashion, “We shall.”

————-

“Care for a drink, my friend? I believe we’ve earned ourselves a cold glass of whiskey… that is, If your evening is unreserved.” Alastor made the offer moments after switching your respective microphones off, quickly arranging the recording panel to a specific setting as he listened for your response.

Your mouth moved quicker than your mind; a distinct rush overtook at the thought of spending more time with the charismatic radio host, “I'd be delighted to join you. I must agree that our interview went quite well. It's rare to have an easy conversation with a stranger these days..”

Alastor raised a brow, sparing you a glance as he finished sliding keys and flicking switches into place to keep a calming stream of music lingering in his broadcast, “So, I'm still a stranger to you?… My, and I thought we were getting on so well…“

He spurs you casually, an air of hurt in his expression, and it stuns you, causing a red hue to rise on your cheeks, “Th-that's not at all what I meant, Alastor…” Your lower head twinges of embarrassment staining your consciousness, and for the third time that evening, Alastor had chipped away at your charm.

He enjoyed it….

Seeing you falter and conform to his standards, though you didn't need to, at any time, you could've remained indifferent to him and taken your leave the moment he shut your mic off, but you remained.

Solely because you'd grown attached to him or the defect he had on you.

Humbling, genuine understanding, but above all else, validation.

“My dear, I am only poking fun. I take no offense to your words, and I hope you'll grant me the same courtesy!” Alastor reached for you, thumb and forefinger slipping under your chin to lift it, and you obeyed his gesture with a soft smile. “Oh…I…”

You paused, swallowing thickly as he raised himself from the chair, head lowered toward yours as he stood above you.

Had he always been so tall?

So brooding?

You weren't entirely sure, but your heart raced, every nerve in your body tingled with anticipation as if you were a deer caught in his headlights, but you couldn't retreat or evade him.

“You what?..” Alastor cooed quietly, chocolate eyes on fire with an emotion you'd long forgotten but returned subconsciously.

Control.

You needed to be back in control, or the next breath between you two might lead to something…

Your mind played scenario after scenario, beginning to short circuit as he peered down at you, lips only inches from yours, and his other hand reaching to caress your cheek. His touch is searing, warmer than those you'd felt before, intentional, and your entire being buzzed in his grasp as if in a drunken stupor.

He was dangerous… able to tear through your facade easily, which was terrifying.

Polarizing.

Don't let him get any closer…

Keep him at a distance…

You've only just met him...

Warnings rang in your head, but your eyes lowered to his lips, and your voice remained quiet as you responded to his question.

“I" 'd like to have that drink before the night ends. Wouldn't you?"With a gentle nudge of your head and a soft laugh, you draw away from Alastor's touch. The space between you increases, and the ability to breathe becomes less strenuous as you stand to your feet, collecting your overcoat before slipping it on, "I'm not familiar with the city yet, so I'll leave it to you to show me around." The chipper in your tone amuses Alastor; you'd perfected the art of illusion so well that in the clutches of what some might consider an intimate moment, you balked and reclaimed sensibility like it never occurred, though you wished for it to carry on further.

He'd met and spoken to his fair share of actors, learned their ticks and telling habits, and used it against them when he saw benefit in toying with them.

However, being able to see right through you evoked another motive for the host, and he dared to think it was mutual.

"Well, I'd be honored to show you the ins and outs of this lively town I call home so long as you promise to keep up," Alastor retrieves his coat, a heavy jet black trench withered accents paired with matching hat, stylish in all the right ways -presumably warm to be in. Still, you were sure if he ventured into the night dressed like that, any stranger would fear him.

They had good reason to, but you didn't need to know why.

Not yet…

With a coy smile, you followed Alastor out of the station, matching his strides as he paved the way to a nearby speakeasy, "You'll find it quite entertaining, my friend. Few visit at this hour, but my dear Mimzy puts on a vine show regardless!" Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of Alastor being infatuated with another, for what reason you weren't sure, but your disappointment flashed clear in your eyes that he took it upon himself to clarify his remark.

"She is an old and loyal acquaintance. Nothing more. Nothing less."

You perked up at the explanation, face burning with a blush as you raised both hands to dissuade his interpretation of your expression, "I understand. You needn't explain anything to me-"

Alastor halted in his tracks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he peered at you curiously, "Hm, so you did assume we were something to begin with?..."

Shit, was I that obvious?...

"Not at all..." you lie, as calm as ever but internally conflicted.

How could he go about messing with you so boldly?..

And why did it excite you?..

"Your eyes say otherwise, my friend..." he counters your nervous reply with a smug smirk, beginning to walk off as if he wasn't toying with your head, "My eyes?..." you whisper in response.

"They are the doorway to the soul...I've learned to walk through said doors, and you, my dear, hide a lot of fears behind them." Alastor chuckles, ears tingling as you reclaim your spot at his upon reaching your destination. Still, you're less concerned with the dark alley lit with a singular neon sign situated above a heavy lead door and more worried about what he is implying regarding your emotions.

Who was he to know anything?

Sure, he was pleasant to be around, an avid intellectual with a knack for continuing conversation with you, and you had no reason to believe he'd been faking his friendliness to you from the start...

That still gave him no right analyzing you, prod at your exterior with more confidence than necessary, and you intended to let him know it.

A glare beset your expression, mouth open to speak, but you weren't allowed to do so as the lead door swung open.

Alastor guided you close to his side as a gaggle of patrons spilled from the doorway, ranting and raving about the time they had inside. Their rowdy behavior irked him, but you did not comment on the matter as he placed a hand on your back to lead you inside after their dysfunctional departure.

“Drunken idiots,” he mumbled begrudgingly, and for the first time you'd seen the radio host truly bothered. He'd been so composed during your interview, inviting and flirtatious on and off the air, so getting a glimpse of his annoyed state felt like a treat.

At least you knew he had flaws, insignificant but telling ones.

“Um. Alastor, you can..” you paused, unsure if you wanted to let him know he was still holding onto your waist as he led you inside the dim speakeasy. Alastor hummed, irritation gone, and his coy smile widening as you shuffled alongside him. “Y-you can let me go now.”

“Oh, nonsense, my dear! I wouldn't want you to run into unsavory characters like the ones that just passed..”

He quickly navigated the lingering crowd, clearly familiar with the club's layout, and you marbled at its unique atmosphere as he led you through it. “I can handle myself, Alastor,” you tried again to reason, but Alastor was quick to give a response as he ushered you to sit at an unoccupied lounge chair complete with a table and lamp.

“I'm sure you can but I'm rather fond of keeping you close.” He sat next to you after setting his coat and hat aside.

What did he mean by that?..

“How selfish of you,” you feigned disappointment as he shifted to face you with a soft chuckle leaving his lips, “Would you be so kind as to forgive my greed for your attention?” Alastor stares you down, noting how you bite your lip, another nervous tick you'd yet to disregard in his presence. “I'll consider it if you buy me a drink or two..”

The suggestion was meant to sound confident, unmothered by the mounting pressure in your chest, but it came out breathless. You were sure that you'd mastered the art of indiffenece, permanently established a mask of charm, but as much as you wished to maintain the certainty…

Alastair disproved it with little more than a gesture or equally compelling word.

It was unsettling, intoxicating too, but undeniably riveting.

“A small price to pay,” he mumbled, eyes lowering to your lips as you laughed softly and leaned back to admire the other patrons roaming or dancing around. “I never said I was cheap..” you taste him, gaze drifting to him as he shifted closer. You wanted to jump out of your skin as his arm came to rest behind you, head lulling to ward your cheek as he breathed into your ear. The resulting warmth made you shiver, quickening your breaths, and your body tingled with intrigue.

“No…” Alastor affirmed your jest, free hand raising your chin, tilting your head to face him as he continued, “…but you are desperate to be loved. One might say that's just as inappropriate, mon Cher..”

His tone dripped with condensation, a sensual purr loud enough to drown out the jazz and chatter surrounding you, and for a moment, he was all you could comprehend.

You should've felt angry, unsettled even, but his words struck a more profound emotion.

Comfort.

You weren't crazy, a constant wonder for the masses to marvel at and never care about.

Alastor could see you.

He wanted to…

“And so what if I am? Why would it concern you?..” there was no harsh undertone to your question, and it earned a sultry hum of amusement from him. “You've interested me, so I must not ignore your charade. I'm partial to the truth of a person, and you, my dear, abandon it in the hopes of success..”

Spot on.

It is shamelessly hurtful but direct nonetheless.

You clicked your tongue dismissively, attempting to turn your head away from his grasp, but Alastor held you tighter.

A glare crossed your face at the brushing grip he established, but a pool of excitement rushed to your crotch as well.

“I'm not one of your scripts to read, Alastor..” you scoff, rolling your eyes to make your point clear, but he isn't affected by the arrogant gesture.

“My apologies if it seems that way, but my intention to know you, inside and out, is purely innocent...”

“I find that hard to believe…” you retort, very aware of the minimal space between you two, and it became harder to focus on anything else but his soft lips that were stretched thin into a smile.

God, I was doomed from the beginning… you think to yourself as you laugh at your shameless line of sight. “Believe what you wish, my friend, but I enjoy being the object of affection..”

“That's inappropriate to suggest,” you mutter, face burning with blush and your hands raising to grip his wrist and collar. Alastor hummed, amused by your denial, “Mm, I suppose it is…would you like another apology?”

You shake your head, tugging him in by the collar of his shirt, eyes lifting to his, full of determination, “A kiss will do just fine…”

He holds your gaze, checking for mockery, but there is none. “That's the first honest thing you've said all night, mon cher,” Alastor points out in a hushed tone, lowering his head to place a slow kiss on your lips as they pull into a satisfied smile.

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

I rewatched Heartstopper for this. Was it helpful? Yes. Did it make me cry harder than the first time I watched it? Also, yes. Will I forever love that show?… (yes). Again, this is just part 1! The second half is being drafted. Please look forward to it. I'm not sure it'll include smut…but I'll debate on that later.

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

He's so cheekyyyy but I love him for it hehe like he’s just the right amount of ‘cocky asshole’ ya know? ❤️ credit to creator!

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

Can you do a set of headcanons of Dallas with a perfectionist reader? Like someone who stresses out before a test or beats themself up when they get a bad grade (and it's not even a bad grade, it's just slightly lower then they thought they'd get.)

A/N: Oh I liked this one. I liked it a lot- thanks for the request! Sorry it took so long!

I wrote this during my anatomy class instead of paying attention, so yeah! Hope this turns out well, I hope you guys like it-

I’m gonna do general headcanons for this one?

I’ll definitely include the scenario you gave me, but I think I’ll have more talk about this way-

In general, Dally really couldn’t give less of a crap about going to school and he honestly thinks you’re kind of a weirdo for stressing out so much about the grades you’re bringing home

He just doesn’t see the point to it, ya know? Like he’s basically a dropout, I bet you he never really goes to school anymore, so he really just can’t wrap his head around why it gets you so dialed up

He’s very unhelpful when it comes to your studies

That’s all.

He’s just unhelpful.

When you’re studying? He’ll purposely shuffle up your papers, steal your pencils, mix up your stuff and just generally be a little nuisance

He does it cause he gets bored when you’re not paying attention to him so ya know, good luck getting yourself out of that mess with him, that behavior really isn’t going anywhere anytime soon

Dal’s absolutely astounded by your grades though- all those 100s and high 90s?

That’s miles ahead of what he was getting when he was still in school and it seems like you do it so easily, just like getting good grades is in your nature

Which, ya know, circles back to kick you in the butt because the minute you bring home something in the low 90s, high 80s range, your world is absolutely wrecked and Dallas doesn’t understand at all

When you start to go bonkahs though, and run yourself into the ground just because you got one question wrong, that’s where Dally kind of steps in and really calls you out on it

He’s going to say that you’re being ridiculous and he means it, he genuinely thinks that you’re being ridiculous because why does one missed question mean so much anyway??

You guys have a big argument of course, because the one thing you should never do is tell a perfectionist that they don’t have to be perfect

So you guys fight and you sulk off to your respective places before comes back, not to properly apologize, but to take you out to the diner or drive-in or something as a faux apology

He still thinks you get a little bit ridiculous about your grades, but now he’s smart enough not to run his mouth off about it, he does get mad though if you refuse a date because you have to study, Dal, I’m sorry

Insert Mr. Winston saying whatever, if you’re studying at home, I’m just gonna sneak in your window and claim that it’s a study date

Let’s just say…studying can get very…hands on…when Dally decides he’s going to crash your lesson cramming sessions 

Don’t think too hard about the phrase cramming sessions because I am NOT getting in trouble for that one but ya know….heh-

ANYWAY

Dal calls you a nerd, a bookworm, a dork, a geek, but mah boy will not hesitate to throw down if someone else calls you those things

Dallas, admittedly a little bit of a bully, does not like it when other people try and mess with you, so boy’s got you covered

I can definitely see him trying to get you to skip school, especially if he’s fresh out of the cooler or reform or something and honestly? He just wants to spend time with you, and it hurts his feelings a little when you’d rather go to school

It’s all about that perfect attendance, okay? All about that attendance record-

But maybe your last period never takes attendance anyway and maybe Dallas just so happens to be waiting outside and you just maybe get your best friend to cover for you so you can skip one class to go out with him <3

Overall?

I can see this dynamic working, at least for a little while-

Despite the fights that are bound to occur, Dallas does enjoy you being a genius and he’ll brag about you to the gang, telling Darry he needs to start hanging your report cards up on that old fridge

Dallas does his best to keep you from driving yourself to burnout and I’ve got this mental scene of you trying to teach him something you’re working on and he just kind of cuts you off in the middle of talking to give you a kiss because he hasn’t been listening to you for the past five minutes but his eyes have been locked on your lips and he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t know the answer but he knows he wants to kiss you real bad-

[beautyconsumer]

(I see you've redone your blog again) but anyway JayGrant is sooooo the friends that make a marriage pact as kids. And Jason thinks it's a joke but Grant is SO serious. 20 years later Grant breaks into Jason's apartment and is like "so I've noticed you're not yet wed-" and Jason is like "I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD WHAT THE FUCK!" And Grant is like "Irrelevant. I need you to update your hand measurements to get the ring resized."

I did! I want it to represent what's going on on this little corner of Tumblr of mine hehe thanks for noticing!

Also!!! ASASGDJFG "I need you to update your hand measurements to get the ring resized." Meaning he already has a ring and has been constantly measuring Jason's hand throughout their childhood/teenage years, lmaoo I imagine Jason sitting there while Grant measures his hand going "lol you still on that?" While Grant very much is.

Jason being pulled the uno reverse card for once and being in the other end of "I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD WHAT THE FUCK!" is so freaking funny.

Jason is still reeling on the fact that Grant came back at all, cause he had given hope he would. Jason sees his own resurrection as a curse so seeing Grant reviving gives him a new perspective and of course Grant goes, "We're soulmates, actually."

And Jason kind of believes him. Wants to believe him too.

Jason is —other than surprised Grant came back at all— is like "You meant it???"

Because he's on board, HEAVILY so, because he gets to marry the first crush he ever had, the very hetero guy who would mess around for shits and giggles, and make him flustered and red faced every time he'd throw hypotheticals at him: "I would treat you better than anyone else", "If you married me we'd never spend our nights sleeping"

All of this is especially funny immediately after Grant's resurrection, because Grant is fully convinced he came back for that one reason (it's actually way deeper than that but his obsessive streak is not gonna wind down for a while.)

Grant goes over the top with everything, the ring, the weeding, the preparations, his rich kid upbringing along his entitlement and hedonistic nature (that only amplified when he came back from dead) makes him a nightmare for anyone who gets on his way of making the Wedding anything less than perfect. This also goes along with me headcanoning him as a perfectionist (having your parents criticizing your shit since ever will do that to ya) bridezilla Grant says who lmao

And if we're going with the family dynamics...

Adeline Kane clutches her chest and almost has a heart attack because she finds out her son is alive Through a freaking Weeding Invitation.

Joey as well and his brain is balancing from wanting to beat the shit out his brother for making them go through this to go hug him and demand to be his best man.

Respawn, Alex, Rose and Wintergreen are invited as well, if only to cement the fact that Slade is very much not invited. He still shows up, though.

Jade is the bridesmaid, or best woman, or however it is. Grant shows up one day and is like "Bitch I'm getting married, you're the bridesmaid," she sighs, looks at his choice of a husband, sighs even more heavily and then they go shopping for the wedding.

The batfam on the other hand, Bruce and Dick are the ones who are having the hardest time.

Bruce is happy at first that Jason is settling and getting married, but then—

"Married to who?!"

Dick is sweating bullets, "Jason, you're still young, you don't have to settle for this one just yet!"

"No, I gotta."

Babs walks him through acceptance. When he recovers he drops Jason hints (as in, big passive aggressive hints) of him being the best man.

Jason lets him in tension for a while, at least until he decides who's gonna be the best man because he's not the first one to not-ask.

Meanwhile Steph and Tim pipe in, "can we plan your bachelor party?"

Damian is happy he gets to spend time and meet his half brother's family, (Respawn) and Jason will be there too I guess.

Jason is very much shoving in their faces, "I'm getting married before any of you losers."

Talia and Harvey are invited as well much to Bruce's dismay.

Bruce gets surprisingly along and is very supportive with Grant while he's in one of his bridezilla episodes because yes, Grant is right: Jason’s wedding deserves the best of the best.

Grant gets very intense about it too, hence, mark Jason down as scared and horny.

Slade, on the other hand, gets whiplash because Addie was just like that on their wedding.

[raythekiller]

🗒 ❛ Personality Headcanons ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie

#Notes: just my general take on the creeps. hope y'all enjoy! requests open :)

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

He's a total fucking prick, for a lack of better word. He doesn't care about other's feelings, he thinks he's better than everyone so he's "allowed" to treat people badly, and he has anger issues to top that. Protesting against his bad treatment is gonna earn you some screaming at best and some blood spilled at worst, depending entirely on his mood.

He has the potential to be a good friend and person in general, he just doesn't want to. However, you might catch him trying to awkwardly comfort Toby or Ben when they have mental breakdowns. Well, not as much "comfort" but more of a shy pat on the back and a "Stop being a little bitch" comment, but that's his way of showing that he cares. Take it or leave.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

Generally a pretty chill guy. He's not an extrovert, but he's still fairly outgoing when it comes to meeting new people (when he does leave his room, that is. He's kind of a shut in). Since he died when he was about twelve, I think he's forever stuck into the pre-pubescent boy mentality, so he can be quite the little shit.

That means he's also kind of a pervert and just immature in general. The type to play certain games just to gawk at the female character's slutty outfits and make fart jokes. He can also be very sarcastic and witty when he wants to, just a total smartass. Also, he's a pothead.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

Probably one of, if not the nicest creep in the manor. Very upbeat and cheerful, at least most of the time. As someone that has bipolar disorder, it personally doesn't make me very violent and as unstable as Toby is canonically said to be. What does make me does things though is my BPD, so I headcanon he has that as well. He's all sunshine and rainbows until someone says something in a slightly off tone and suddenly he's screaming and throwing his hatchets at the fucking wall.

That also means he's extremely clingy. He wants every last bit of attention he can get and is extremely possessive of people he likes. And, while he is nice most of the time, when he's having an episode he's probably the most cold and cruel person you'll ever met.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

One of the most chill creeps. He's not aggressive and kills only when he needs to eat, and tries to make it quick and painless for the victim. He eats any organs, not just kidneys. Also, he's a fucking great cook, Hannibal Lecter style. He really likes reading and is extremely intelligent, probably knows two or more languages, and is probably the most mature member of the manor after Slenderman.

He's not actually blind, but he's not not blind either. He sees the temperature of things instead of the actual object. He hates drama and argument and loud noises, so he normally stays away from the other creeps (especially our favorite trio, Jeff, Ben and Toby), but he gets along really well with Jane.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

Another prick, though a more reserved one than Jeff. He's a perfectionist and natural leader, so he expects everyone to obey him without questions and no mistakes allowed. He has this rivalry going on with Toby because, even though he's the leader and Slenderman's right hand, he feels the tall guy has a certain favoritism or soft spot when it comes to Toby (which is true).

He gets very aggressive after missions and just wants to be left alone for at least a few hours, just until he calms down a little. After he's rested, he's actually pretty decent to be around, becoming less defensive and more accepting of others.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

The coolest guy ever. He's calm but great to be around and is always willing to listen to others when they need to vent. He's kind of the manor's therapist and gives great advice. He's mute, so he talks either through sign language or writing down on paper. He also plays guitar and likes to write his own songs sometimes. Ben and Sally really look up to him as a kind of cool uncle.

Since he's so level headed, he's always the one to calm Masky down when he's being a bit much. Toby really appreciates this, since he's normally getting the short end of Masky's bad moods. As mentioned, he's great with the younger members of the manor and just kids in general and they all love him. The type of uncle to give them candy while saying "Don't tell your parents" playfully.

[readychilledwine]

Hey. It's me again. I was wondering if you could write something. Where reader is taking care of her younger siblings because her father who was a single dad had died due to some illness which she has now and it is going to kill her. The ic notices last minute. Az is just pissed because she is his wife and she made up a lie to break his heart. You can decided if there is a cure they found or not. Thanku. Hope you are doing well

I'm convinced you want me to break Azriel's (and my) heart, and I almost did it this time 👀👀👀👀

Losing Forever

Warnings - illness, mentions of death, heartbreak, losing a family member, angst with a happier ending than originally planned, mentions of medical procedures and blood. Ps- there's a little hint of Azris in there if you squint. 👀

A/n - I changed the ending of this two or three times, and I'm not 100% happy, but that's my inner perfectionist. I seriously considered something less happy, but I think I mentally care about Azriel having a happy ending way too much.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Madja stared at you in silence. "Where and how?" The healer finally said before pulling any books she could. "Y/n, where and how?"

She had confirmed your fear as you began to pick at the loose skin on your nails. "My father had written for me," you went into the story, the old healer looking at you every so often as she flipped through page after page.

The conclusion was the same. Illryian Fever. You had heard of it wiping whole camps clean. Incurable, deadly, and incredibly painful for the affected. "You cannot go home. You could pass this to Nyx, Rhys, Azriel, or Cassian if they get too close to you." You nodded. "I will keep looking, y/n, but I have to go tell the High Lord which camp it was spreading through and that you have it."

Your trip home had taken much longer than you and Azriel had believed it would. He crossed his arms over his chest as Madja sat across from Rhys. The healer's face was pale. Her hands shaking with nerves. "Not that I am unhappy to see you, old friend, but why are you here?" Rhys leaned back a brow raised.

They heard her throat clear before a pregnant pause came. "Illyrian fever struck the Snowfall Camp. At least 50 are dead, countless are infected." Azriel's heart froze, and Cassian looked at him.

Rhys swallowed thickly. "Why do you have this information before I do?" He prayed to the Mother that the answer they all knew was coming wouldn't be said. "Surely, if it was spreading, I would know by now."

Madja rose a brow at Rhysand before taking his hand in hers. "You know the answer to that question, High Lord. She's in the Halls of Healing. I will not allow her to come out here. I will not allow visitors until a shield is in place." Rhys closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "I need anything you can get me regarding similar strands of illnesses if there will be a small chance of saving her."

Azriel felt Cassian grab him as his knees gave out. He felt his brother lowering him to the floor. He couldn't hear Rhys and Madja trying to talk to him. Every sound was muffled as if he was underwater, his heart rate was skyrocketing, his eyes wide with panic. The sound of his heartbeat increasing became a pounding drum. The noise was all he could focus on until your soft voice came into his mind.

Just a week, my love. Father said Luka, and he had simple colds. I will be right back to you. He rewatched the moment now, replaying the subtle things in your body language. The distant look in your eyes, the way you kissed him harder than you had for any other previous goodbye.

You knew, he realized, you knew, and you lied.

After countless hours spent hunched over books and chasing away sleep, Rhys had found a way for them to all see you. He kept a shield between you all, clutching Nyx tightly to him as he tried to reach you and cried for his favorite aunt.

It had been a week with no news regarding a cure, and your body was clearly tired of fighting. You had stopped eating 2 days ago, spending hours now in the throes of sleepless dreams and fevered nightmares. He had brought the heir to say goodbye, knowing from Madja's predictions, the progression, and years of experience you had until morning unless a miracle came.

Feyre was in the room with you. Holding your hand as she sobbed heavily into the bed. She could not pass the disease unless she made the choice to shift, and the wall Rhys was offering was too much for her. She needed to hold your hand to feel your soft palms one last time. But, it was too much for him as well. The sight of you like this was eating away at him. "Feyre, darling, please." She nodded, with one last kiss goodbye placed on your forehead.

Cassian and Nesta came next. Lady Death was held back by her husband, his hand resting on her swollen stomach. He took in your peaceful face, the countless medications being pumped into you to keep you comfortable. Ness unleashed a heartbreaking cry after they had spent almost an hour talking to you, hoping your mind wasn't lost enough that it could hear them still. Cassian took that as the cue, gently ushering his wife out of the room and into the large area Madja had set up for the Inner Circle to wait in.

It went on like that until they had all visited you. Elain and Lucien, then Mor, then Amren. Eris had even come, warming your room and sheets more as he watched you shiver. He walked back into the room, kissing Elain's temple to greet his sister in law before placing a supportive hand on Azriel's shoulder.

It was not every day someone felt the mating bond fading. Numbness had taken over the spymaster, along with anger, as he found letters confirming you knew what you were possibly walking into. But you had done it for your father. Your brother.

You had done it because they had no one else. Your mother was long gone, and your sisters married off to other camps. He did not rank high enough to garner attention from healers, your half brother was merely a child, and it would have been seen as survival of the fittest.

You had risked your life to ensure their last moments were comfortable, and now Azriel would pay that price.

"Azriel," Madja said softly, "if you want to say goodbye, you need to now." Eris and Lucien all but dragged the male to your room when he refused to move, shutting the door behind him and waiting in the hall.

Azriel felt ill as he took you in. This wasn't you. The sickly pale skin, the hallow cheeks, the lack of laughter and light. He felt a knot forming in his throat as he mindless stepped as close to you as he could before the shock of the barrier hit him.

He couldn't even hold your hand in your last moments. He sat in the chair slowly. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice finally broke the heaviness of the room. "Why did you lie to me?" He felt tears damping his lashes before falling. "You are my mate, y/n. Why did you lie to me about this?"

He watched you, knowing he wouldn't get a response. "I'm fucking angry. I have to spent your last moments angry with you because of a choice you made. We could have sent healers, love," his voice cracked. "We could have sent anyone but you."

Azriel was openly weeping now. "You promised me forever, y/n. You promised me years of love, joy, and unconditional happiness." He knew you had not broken the latter of the 3. You had given Azriel countless memories. Countless moments of laughter, of warmth and love.

You had melted that icy part deep down in his soul that was slowly resolidifying as he accepted the loss and anger he felt. "You promised me forever, and you shit on it. You shit on me, on my feelings, our marriage, our bond." The coldness grew with each word. "Did you even actually love me, or was that a lie too?"

He knew deep down it wasn't and watched as your finger, the one with your wedding ring, twitched. Rhys entered the room calmly behind him. "She can fucking hear you, Azriel. She's awake," he chastised. "Do not let your last moments with her be moments of anger and self sabot-" Rhys froze, his eyes flicking to the doorway. Hope filled Rhysand's features. "Hold on, y/n. Just please keep fighting, sis."

Madja and Helion, followed by Thesan, ran into the room. Rhys pulled Azriel back and away, making room for the three of them to work. "Mother, fuck," Helion said softly as he took your hand. "This better work fast, Thesan."

The Lord of Dawn rolled his eyes. "I didn't exactly have countless illyrians lining up to test it, Helion. Especially not ones in this advanced of a condition." Azriel flinched as Thesan shoved something into the vein of your hand. A soft whimper of pain fell from your throat. "I know, lovely. I'm sorry. This might be very uncomfortable." He set a bag of clear glowing liquid on the rack. "Who's blood?"

"Mine," Helion immediately offered. "I don't want to risk you taking it home to your winged legion from potential blood contact."

Thesan's jaw twitched. "I don't know if you can handle another one, Hel."

"Use me." A calm cool voice said from the doorway. "I owe him a life debt. Use me." Thesan nodded, motioning for the owner of the voice to move closer.

Eris stepped forward and through the shield, taking the seat Helion had moved closer to you. The heir held your hand gently as Thesan tapped into his vein. "You might be here awhile, Eris." The heir nodded. "I also cannot promise you doing this will save her, but it's her best shot until Tarquin, Tamlin, or Kallias can get here. It works best with a high lord's blood."

Your breathing had evened out, and Azriel watched in silence as Thesan hooked one more needle to your opposite arm from Eris and into a different container. He back away along with Helion, watching as Eris's blood slowly began to travel the tubes and into you, and your own began to leave.

"There's a similar illness in the Peregryn and the Seraphim," Thesan began slowly. "Drakon and I figured this out many years ago. The contagion cannot survive high fae blood for some reason. We had figured Rhysand's father would have done the same, but it appears not considering the situation."

Rhys scoffed slightly. "You two give my father far too much credit on anything. Velaris is the best thing he created, with the exception of myself of course." The joke broke the tension. "How long until she's not contagious."

Helion motioned towards the bag. "The second that started pumping into her, she stopped. That is water from the fountain Amarantha tried to destroy under the mountain. It's sacred and all healing. We were hoping with how poorly she was doing it would prevent anything from progressing further."

Azriel felt the shield drop and ran to your open side. Taking a cold hand in his, feeling the weight of your ring. "This was successful in the camps. I apologize it took us so long to get here. Finding Illyrians willing to help us help them instead of accept death was-" Helion just shrugged, looking at Rhys. "You all are too stubborn for your own good. Eris, what do you want for food? You'll need it."

Rhys held his hand up. "I know where he likes to eat here. I will send you two food. I'm going to get everyone else out for a break, though. And to explain what's happening." He motioned for Thesan and Helion to come with him, squeezing Azriel's shoulder and shooting Eris one last look before shutting the door.

Silence fell between the two of them, both of their eyes locked on you. "If this saves her, you need to grovel and apologize immediately." Eris would not look at him. "I would have never said to my mate what you said to her on their deathbed."

Azriel nodded. "Why are you doing this?"

Eris finally looked up at him, before looking at you. "You came and saved me from that bitch of a queen and the deathless God, Azriel. She nursed me back to health and healed me after countless beating from my father. You are my friends, even if you do not acknowledge that. I care about you, Az." Eris paused, his eyes focused on the fire, starting it back up into a gentle blaze to heat the room again. "Besides, I quite enjoy your wife. She is wonderful. Even if you are a moody brute."

Azriel laughed lightly. Allowing silence to fall between the two of them again. His shadows appeared some time later with two books from thin air, taking one to Eris and dropping one in Azriel's lap. They then pushed side tables to the two males as Rhys sent them food.

Eris guffawed in awe as Azriel's shadows began to cut their steaks. "Is this your way of saying thank you, shadowsinger?" Azriel nodded. Opening his mouth while staring at Eris to allow his companions to feed him. "You're welcome, Azriel. She looks better already." And you did. Color had slightly returned to your face. Your lashes occasionally fluttered against your cheeks.

They welcomed in quiet again, finishing their meals and desserts before a soft knock came on the door almost an hour later. A shadow opened it, and Eris's face almost fell before he chuckled through his breath. "You are not the one I was expecting."

The scent of rain and fresh cut grass hit Azriel. Had this been a different circumstance, Azriel would have shielded you, protectrd you, but he knew there was only one way this male got in, and that sacrifice from Rhysand shocked him.

"My schedule clears easily these days." Tamlin placed a hand on Azriel's shoulder. "You look like shit, Azriel." The shadowsinger watched Thesan appear and began to unhook Eris.

The heir moved to the chair by Azriel, drinking the water a shadow had handed to him as the small puncture wound instantly healed. They watched as Thesan hooked Tamlin up to you. They watched as Tamlin's blood seemed to instantly make a huge difference. You had stopped shivering completely. Your body relaxed. You were even breathing deeper.

Thesan observed for a while. Watching as Rhys then sent Tamlin food, causing the two high lords to laugh. "Tarquin will be here by morning, and Kal will be here tomorrow afternoon. The Inner Circle is each going to take turns after you, with the exception of Rhysand. Feyre will sit in his place. Then Tarquin, Kal, then Helion and myself. I think it will take all of us since she was so advanced into the illness."

Tamlin nodded. "I apologize I was not here sooner."

Thesan shook his head. "Eris was more than enough to get her off the brink. Now, all you have to do is sit and stabilize her, and from there, we will heal her."

Thesan crossed his arms in front of his body, brows raised as he nodded to the plate in front of Tamlin. "I was informed not to leave until you ate a bite." Tamlin laughed as shadows copied their previous motions, cutting his steak like they had for Eris before holding a bite to his face.

Eris had fallen asleep, his head resting on Azriel's shoulder. Thesan grabbed a blanket, pulling it over the heir, and Azriel wrapped a wing around him on instinct as well.

"She's going to recover, Azriel," Thesan said. "Might want to start writing that apology letter. Rhys said her thoughts regarding you were not kind when she called for him. Something about stupid illyrian brutes and over egotistical bastards?"

Tamlin and Azriel laughed. Azriel didn't take his eyes off of you as you shakily raised a single finger to him. "So a fancy date, an apology letter, and a vacation. Noted, my love."

[squarebracket-trickster]

To be honest, I think the worst part about writing a novel (for me) is that I absolutely have to half-ass it if I want to make any progress at all.

Because the way my process works, there is no point in spending hours editing a scene if, by the time I get to the end of the draft, I realize it is not actually needed for the plot. And I can spend weeks just making the first line pop but how much can I really say with it if I do not know the themes of my own story yet, or know what I need to foreshadow?

Why put it all that work at the beginning and scrap most of it when it would be more efficient to word-vomit something atrocious now and slowly chip away at it like a sculptor revealing a veinous hand in the marble, putting in the effort once I know where effort is actually needed?

At the same time, as a chronic perfectionist, half-assing something is terrifying because I start to fear it might actually be my best work, or that I am "losing it" and out of practice.

Eventually that half-assing will turn into a full-ass, because with each draft I will add back a little more of what I let go of last draft; but GOD is it hard to read something of yours that is riddled with mistakes you can see from a mile away, and that you know how to fix... and just move on without touching them.

You really do just have to trust that your future self has the same standards as you and will put in the effort you are putting off when the time is right; and if the problem is beyond her skill to fix she will research the shit out of it, ask for help, and try until it works. She won't settle for anything less than perfect (or at least, I cannot think of anything that would make this better so it might as well be done), but she can't get there until you do.