#codependent is not the same thing as a close relationship.... like AT ALL..

[sunshinetrinket]

codependent does not mean what everyone seems to think it means

[karofsky]

Nandermo is canon. Full stop.

They’re openly, irrevocably in love with each other. They have shown time and time again that their devotion to each other will always come first. Nandor’s codependency is suffocating and Guillermo’s inability to adjust to human society is because he’s never actually wanted to. Everything has always been about him refusing to move on from Nandor, because he never has wanted to, but was always too scared to admit it to himself. Nandor has called him on it, and finally we’ve seen him accept that his place is with the vamps, and beside Nandor.

Nandor who doesn’t WANT romance. He wants companionship. He plays the song and dance because it’s a fun game, and because it’s kept him from admitting just how much Guillermo means to him. His sense of true love was always muddled in what others had and what others thought he needed, and not what he actually wanted. He wants his family, and he wants the one person he genuinely, canonically believes fate brought him to. He understands that in all nearly 800 years of his life, everything was bringing him to Guillermo. He’s told him that. Loving Guillermo is his purpose— the one thing he’s always been actually searching for.

Guillermo who equally has been trying to to force himself into a box. “If my loyalty isn’t tied to getting what I want then what is it.” Guillermo who had a whole year to himself, and another year on top of it telling himself that he was in love with a man who he only told lies to. Freddie was only ever a distraction the same way Marwa was. He tricked himself into believing this was the life he wanted, the romance he wanted, and it all predictably fell apart when his inability to give up Nandor got in the way.

Paul Simms and the writers, since season three, have only ever treated them with care. They’ve openly called attention to the fact that it’s a love story, and a fucked up one. They’ve also openly said that it will never be what most people want out of a romance. For years. That doesn’t change the fact that they’ve now made it canonically clear that these two characters are soulmates. They are not platonic, they are not Two Besties, they are not purely familial. They are two neutron stars that are locked by gravity to one another, who only ever will be locked to one another, and will crash and burn and die together. They are that weird, homoerotic, fucked up, “what’s up with those two” relationship that we’ve always called them, and now they’ve openly accepted to one another.

A kiss would be great. They deserved a funny little sex scene. We aren’t going to get them, and that doesn’t make it any less queer, or any less of a canon love story, because for the first time, I’m finally seeing the weird, unconventional, fucked up queer romances that I, in my own queer life, have always had or wanted. I love so strongly and so fiercely and so loyally, and it’s often unspoken. The people who are important to me I keep with me for my life, even long after they leave. I don’t need my love to look like what people expect, or tick off boxes of What A Relationship Is. My romance is in that devotion and yearning for closeness and companionship.

Fall in love with your best friend and feel exactly no pressure to change anything about it (I have). Have crushes and flings that are fun for fun sake, or end messy because you get in too deep, or things just don’t work out and That’s Life (I do). Be devoted to your friends like you are your partners, make out with whoever you want, allow yourself to blur the lines of your relationships to what you and those relationships want to be. And if you like the structure of a classic romance, and enjoy said song and dance, that’s fine too. But please ask yourself why, when looking at other relationships that don’t, that you consider those less valid in your eyes. Why do you turn your nose up at those who refuse to see the love and see the queerness, and then you yourself look that love and queerness in the eye, and say “it’s just not enough, though.” A love and romance not being for you does not make it any less valid as a love and romance. In fact most people probably should not want what Nandermo have at all.

But Nandermo are it for each other. They’ve now accepted it. They have so much time (as little or as long as they physically have) together to figure out what else they want in their relationship. After 15 years they both are FINALLY on the same page. Wherever they go next is up to them, and I’m so thankful that they are looking to leave that open-ended. Because those that know, KNOW. I know it, the characters know it, the writing team knows it, Harvey and Kayvan know it. If people want to convince themselves it’s purely platonic love, that’s on them, but everyone who has watched six seasons and seen, canonically, EVERYTHING, has seen it for a reason. The love is written, and the love has been addressed, now conclusively. Nandor and Guillermo are in love with each other, they know they are in love with each other, and they know they’ll never have a love like this outside of each other.

[merakiui]

crow & goat in courtship.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dub-con, coercion, religious symbolism/imagery, mentions of pregnancy, implied breeding kink, obsession, alcohol/intoxication, slight codependency, non-consensual touching/groping, au in which you attend classes at nbc instead of nrc under rollo's supervision note - the crow is always on call.

i. “but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death” (james 1:14-15).

Rollo answers on the third ring.

He always does—claims it’s polite to answer after three chimes just as it’s right to knock thrice before entering a residence. He’s stubborn in his ways, a crow bound by routine, only ever doing things in threes. Habitual to a fault, strictly so. You are similar in that regard; you find solace in the familiarity of predictable patterns. The relief that stems from knowing what will come next—in being prepared for all manner of events even if you haven’t yet reached the first.

But then you also like fun, and the best sort of fun is often had with a disregard for habit. Disorder and spontaneity. Throwing all caution to the wind. Trusting in the arms of the crow who will catch you, the carefree goat, when you fall.

“Good evening,” he mutters into the phone, his voice sounding so close despite the distance between you and him. “It’s rather late. Is there a specific reason you’re calling?”

“Rollo! Hey! Hiii,” you drawl, grinning like a fool. You stagger through the door into the chilly, starless night, your heels slipping on cracked, frozen pavement. “Whoa!” You stumble against the railing with a carefree giggle. “Almost lost my footing!”

There’s a stalling silence on his end. And then, with a deep inhale, he asks evenly, “Have you gone out?”

“Mm. Yeah. Went out to celebrate with some friends.”

“Some friends?”

“Like one or two…or a whole house full of ’em.”

“(Name).”

“What?” When he doesn’t reply, you laugh. Not because it’s humorous or embarrassing, but to merely fill the silent gap. “What? Roro, you’re sho stern. Don’t lecture me!”

“So you’ve been drinking.”

“What?! No!” With an offended scoff, you shake your head even though he’s not here to witness it. “You know NBC’s no-booze rule. I’m not gonna get caught—won’t get caught.”

“You slurred your speech and called me ‘Roro’—both in the same sentence, mind you.”

“So what? Rollo, Roro. Tomato, potato.”

“It’s to-may-to, to-mah-to. And—” he exhales an exhausted breath— “Never mind. That’s besides the point. Why, pray tell, have you called me at midnight?”

“Why’re you up at midnight?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Not fair! I asked first!”

“Not quite.” There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks next. “If I were to visit your room right now—knock on the door and wait there—would you let me in?”

“Yeaaah,” you start to say, only to catch yourself halfway in the trap. “No!”

“No?”

“No…thank you. No visitors tonight. S’late and I gotta study for tomorrow’s exam.”

“And a party will somehow aid in that endeavor? (Name), you do realize you’ve spun one too many lies and now you’re woefully entangled.”

“Less poetry and more picking me up.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about.”  

“Rollo, please be nice,” you whine, your lips twisting into a pout. “S’cold and I didn’t bring a jacket and I’m kinda-maybe-sorta a little…”

“A little…?” he encourages, and you can just envision that self-satisfied smirk of his.

“A little-drunk-but-also-not-really-drunk-but-also-totally-drunk,” you hastily admit in a string of syllables. Snowfall swirls around you, and you grasp the bannister to prevent yourself from falling over. “Oh, it’s snowing.”

“I can see perfectly clear from my window. Beautiful, is it not?”

“So stop being an obtuse dick and come get me before I freeze!”

“Should that come to pass, you may just rival the Righteous Judge at the entrance. I’ll be sure to polish you every month.”

“I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna poison your coffee and watch you drink it, and then we’ll see who’s stiffer than a statue. It’ll be you—in death, y’know!”

“Will you now?”

“If you don’t pick me up, yeah!”

There’s the distinct sound of shuffling. You hear crisp pages turning and then a book closing before the rustling of fabrics invades your keen ears. You picture your responsible friend pacing around his room as he dresses himself for the weather.

“Very well,” he says after a moment, ever the composed gentleman. “Send me the address.”

“You’re the best. Love you lots. Thank you! Thank you!” You press your lips together to mimic obnoxious kissing sounds, which elicits a huff of amusement from him. “It’s not a far walk. Promise.”

“Stay on the phone with me. I’ll be there shortly. And don’t go anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“You do realize sneaking out is against the rules, yes?”

“Aaand here comes the lecture. Gimme a break. Can’t a girl celebrate her birthday in peace?”

You drag your hand over your mouth and wipe sticky wine residue away. In the process, you smear black lipstick. Dark like night, like a crow’s inky feathers, it leaves your once-flawless appearance in disarray.

“There are much better ways to celebrate. Did I not say I’d take you into town this weekend and we could celebrate then?”

“That’s so far from now.”

“It’s three days away, (Name).”

“Still too far.”

“Don’t expect me to provide cover if you get caught.”

“And you can just leave campus whenever you please?”

“This is different.”

“Yeah?” You giggle into the speaker, warm and fuzzy and endlessly entertained. It’s enough of a distraction to keep winter from seeping into your marrow. “How so?”

“This is official Student Council business.”

“Really?” you ask with an impressed whistle. 

“Indeed. On account of my being President, it’s only natural I punish students who conduct themselves poorly. Shall we review your list of infractions and decide on a suitable penalty together?”

“I’d rather we not.”

“Oh, but I insist. Perhaps our discussion and the cold will sober you and teach you a valuable lesson about integrity.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you lower onto the step to await his arrival. The icy stone digs harshly into your rear, which is hardly covered by your too-short dress. It’s definitely not fingertip length or weather-appropriate. You shiver and stuff your hand into the pocket of your cropped sweater. You should take shelter inside, where it’s plenty cozy and inviting, but your inflated pride disagrees. Retreating to the warmth after you’ve already bid farewell would be foolish. At least, that’s what the alcohol in your system is telling you.

So the goat endures the cold, for it knows that that is all that awaits it as the crow closes in.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an academic criminal. Get on with it, President Flamme.”

“Let’s see. You’ve disobeyed campus curfew, snuck out on a school night, attended a party when your grades could use improvement, neglected your studies, drank carelessly, called the one person who can and will punish you for this and the aforementioned…”

The sound of crunching snow pierces the air then, and you look up in time to see Rollo approaching. He’s dressed in a long woolen overcoat with a scarf twined around his throat and a hat pulled down over his ears. He smirks at you from where he stands on the pavement, cutting the call and sliding his phone into his pocket. Tilting his head at you, he pulls another coat from under his arm and offers it to you.

“And you’re dressed for your death.”

“Okay, that one’s personal.”

Rolling your eyes, you rise on unsteady legs. He meets you at the stairs, climbing two of them to help you into the coat. It’s an embrace more welcoming than that of a lover’s, so soft and comfortable that it immediately rejuvenates your weary skeleton. It smells like Rollo, too—like coffee and weathered pages in an old book. You hum your approval, snuggling into the fluffy fabric. He’s plopping his hat on your head next, tugging it so far down that you almost slip on the slick stoop. Like he always has, ever since he first met you, he catches you. 

“Hello to you, too.”

You blink back at him. “Yeah, thanks. I owe you.”

“Let me see your hands.”

He takes them in his, runs his thumbs over the tops, and then procures mittens from his pockets. You watch him slide both over your hands, rubbing them together briefly to generate heat at a faster rate. Your body sways, gaze unfocused. He’s just about to unwind his scarf from his shoulders when you reach out to stop him.

“I’m good. This is enough.”

“You’ll catch your death—”

“And you won’t in just a coat and scarf? At least let me give you your hat back.”

He shakes his head, holding his hand up in objection. “You’ve been out in this weather longer. It’s only fair. But, really, did you have to wait out here? Couldn’t you have gone inside?”

“My pride’s on the line.”

Rollo’s unamused stare cuts through you. “You won’t have much pride left if you’re encased in ice.”

“Then we’d best get moving. Campus awaits!”

You wrap your arm around him, clinging out of instinct. Rollo peers at the proximity, his lips upturned in a covert half-smile, and his arm snakes slowly around your waist in return. You don’t notice this, for you’re too busy dragging your feet through the snow while he acts as a helpful crutch, stable in a way you just aren’t. Not right now, at least.

But then the goat is never stable enough to survive the inevitable—the swift, sacrificial blade that befalls and beheads, leaving gory spatters to run red and visceral in the wake of the end.

You’ve never known, and you never will. How could you when he’s been nothing but cordial? A clean slate. Admirable guidance. A helpful friend. Your only friend.

The crow descends in three knocks. He lets himself in regardless of whether you wish to have him as a guest. He is unwanted and feared, the very foundation of death and destruction, and he has set his beady eyes on you—the goat.

It’s common knowledge that you cannot pray away the crow. He persists, as always, quiet even when his wings beat against his sleek, feathered body like the loudest war drums. And the caw—the dreadful caw! It’s a most disturbing cry, one that pierces through the dark like jarring slivers of light in shadow. Or a butcher’s blade through flesh, sawing through sinew to get to brilliant bone beneath. The hoarse call of Death’s crows—they circle in a murder, swooping down to meet you as harbingers of malevolence.

Rollo has always strived to lead a virtuous existence defined by a rigidly righteous moral compass. In the gloomy pits of misery and hatred, where he festers in a bundle of tar-colored feathers, he does not hope for sunshine. He no longer knows the uplifting ebullience of life’s greatest miracles. Because there is no miracle in death or tragedy. Because there is no happiness to be found in a doomed hand, every card showcasing Death and its many forms. Not for him. Never for him.

But then, amidst the despair and despondency, each all-consuming, a goat fell into his lap.

A divine offering to the crow, who is so far from divinity himself, can only mean one thing. It is neither conciliatory nor a reward.

It is a sacrifice.

But then the City of Flowers adores its goats—reveres them for all that they are. Goats are cherished, not sacrificed. But to drag a nameless, magicless goat from the grounds of its far-off, inconceivable pasture—is that not the cruelest form of sacrifice? To drop this goat into the equitable embrace of the crow—is that not the sweetest gift? Generous yet unfair. Plucked right from the folds of another heaven.

The mortal coil can be callous, which is precisely why the crow is permitted to exist in impartiality. Death does not care for who you were in life and who you will be in the next, and the crow only ever oversees finales. Never beginnings. Much like a deity does not care for what good you can do if you do not first adore them in copious adequacy.

The crow carries with him a most fearsome knell—the chime of judgment, to be delivered right on time like an execution staged for noon.

All throughout life, you can plan for the crow and all that he shall deliver, and still you will never be fully prepared to greet him. He brings misfortune bundled in baskets woven from the bones of sacrifices past. In holy scripture, it is the goat who is punished most often—who is slaughtered at the altar, who is arranged as peace to quell the torrential fury of the deity, who is made to suffer at the hands of those hoping to avoid damnation or godly wrath, who is meant to shoulder the blame when no one else wants to. Favors have been bought with the blood of the goat, its head nestled amidst verdant grasses, pure forevermore even when it is dyed carmine. It appeases and pleases.

So it’s just—religiously so—that the crow takes the goat for himself, strips it bare, and proves to the prying eyes in heaven that the greatest sin is more than lustful temptation.

For the crow—for Rollo—the heaviest sin, a vile, cursed burden from his very first breath—it is existence itself.

And only the blood of a pure goat can wash away such filth—can cleanse what has been rotting within. The goat can make a garden out of the crow—bring life and love to its barren insides regardless of however fleeting its presence may be. It is within this garden—within the softest, fertile soil—where the crow shall sow the most special seeds.

You cross the bridge with Rollo, your laughter filling the cloudy sky as you recall all manner of amusing stories from the past few hours. Drinking games paired with drunken gossip. Delicious wines and snacks. A party with an energy so lively it could rival the city’s annual festivals. Even though he doesn’t seem outwardly pleased to hear any of it, he listens well and occasionally stops to steady you before you can topple over the railing into the water below. Your heels clack against smooth, frosted stone, and the wind whips at your face, each snowflake biting and vicious. Noble Bell’s vast campus waits just beyond the wrought iron gate, standing proud and backdropped by the night.

“You think anyone’s up?” you ask, curling your fingers into his arm as he guides you through.

Rollo eases the gate shut. “They might if they hear you. It would be best to keep quiet.”

You pantomime zipping your lips and discarding a nonexistent key. He quirks a small smile at that and then hurries you along. Nights are always peaceful at Noble Bell. The halls are desolate and quiet, devoid of all signs of student life. Your and Rollo’s shoes click in unison as you walk through the hall and past the courtyard. You gaze at the arched openings, counting each one as they become fainter with the growing distance.

Your breath materializes in front of you when you sigh. “I’m so sleepy. I wanna go to bed for a thousand years.”

“You’ll miss your exam if you do that,” he chides, tutting. “And every other exam that will follow.”

“That’s the point!” Your voice bounces off the walls, returning to you in a reverberating echo. Cringing under Rollo’s disapproving glower, you speak softer. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Just how much have you had to drink? You can hardly walk straight without leaning on me for support.” He narrows his eyes, his lecherous gaze crawling down to your bare legs. “Not that I mind…”

His words don’t reach you, for they’re swallowed in a howling gale as it sweeps across the courtyard. You spy the dormitories then, each one looking more like gingerbread covered in confectioners’ sugar instead of buildings dusted with snow. Your eyelids droop while you cross the distance to reach your designated building, your every movement feeling slower than molten molasses, and by the time you’re actually inside the dorm—Rollo’s shushed you more than once—you’re yearning for the warmth of your bed.

So it’s bewildering when, rather than your own room, you stop at Rollo’s instead.

He opens the door and steps inside with you in tow. You keep your mouth shut, too tipsy to think coherently. After he clicks the lamp on, which leaves the room awash in soft shades of amber, he shrugs his coat off, draping it over a nearby chair. You drag yourself over to his bed and flop down, squeezing your eyes shut to block out both the light and your spinning surroundings. Rollo doesn’t say anything, but you hear him shuffling about his room, crossing to close and lock the door before walking back towards you. The mattress dips under his weight, and you feel nimble fingers working to undo the buttons on your coat.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask, cracking your eyes open just as he’s pulling the coat from your person.

Rollo folds it neatly and sets it aside. “You’re practically melting into my bed already. It would be quite the undertaking to make the walk back to your room at this hour.”

“So considerate,” you tease, grinning up at him. Sleep stretches your expression into something dazed, and you yawn loudly. “Then I’m gonna sleep here. Wake me up before class.”

You almost drift off, but those frigid fingers are moving to tug you out of your sweater next. They crawl across your bare shoulders like a spider on a web.

“You really are something,” he marvels, glancing at your body sprawled beneath him. “To brave the cold in such thin material…”

“Stupid choice. I know.”

“It appears we’re in agreement.”

“Shut up,” you snap back with a weak laugh. “You’re no better, showing up so cozy and then giving everything to me.”

Rollo memorizes the way the form-fitting dress hugs your figure. He inhales a shaky breath and brings his hands back to his sides. Your chest is right here. So close. So frustratingly close.

He can’t indulge. He really shouldn’t. It’s unbecoming to show such unfair favorability when he’s meant to remain impartial. Death should not lust for the beauty of life because it only knows endings—or the beginnings of ghostly eternity. The crow should not allow himself to be swept up in tumultuous temptation.

And the goat is the only friend he’s known—the only one who understands the crow, if only by a few meager slivers. But someday the goat will know.

Rollo swallows his inhibitions, beating his urges away with a stick. He’s not one for rash decisions; he’s meticulous and thoughtful. He would never take such a risk—would never nosedive into a crude confession. He’s plotted it in his diary, but it’s never come to fruition. He restrains himself because he must. Because it’s the polite and proper thing to do when caught up in courtship. Because if he opens his torso and allows you to poke around inside, you’ll find that he is not the friend you’ve known for all these months.

He is a fiend, devilishly so, wearing the hide of a goat to put the real one at ease.

Warring with rationality, he slides away from you and intends to recover at his desk. He’ll scrawl all of the things he wishes to do to you in there and that will be enough. That will help clear his head of the intoxicating fog that settles whenever he’s with you in private. But then he’s reaching to untie the canopy draped over his bed, each corner undone within seconds. The sheer curtains fall in thin layers, confining the both of you to this island in the middle of a barren sea. It’s darker in here, dimly lit by the faint glow of the lamp outside.

You blink up at him, owlish.

“You…” He stops himself, shakes his head, and turns away. Hastily, he fishes his handkerchief from his pocket. With this enclosed propinquity, he can smell your perfume. It’s spiced and flowery—alluring and adorable all at once—and it assaults both his nose and mind. “You should sleep. It’s late.”

This is for the best. The crow is only meant to look after the goat, remain unaffected even in the face of lustful, fateful sacrifice.

But you’re here. You’re splayed like a spill, perfectly imperfect, and your shoulders are a canvas coveting kisses. He clutches his handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist.

“Mm, okay. Night…”

“Yes… Yes, good night,” he mumbles, lowering his handkerchief. He swallows thickly.

This is for the best.

But even though he thinks this, his arm is stretching out. Closer. Closer. So close, until his hand is hovering just above your chest. He’s so close.

When will he ever have another chance as fortuitous as this?

His hand closes around your breast and he squeezes it experimentally. It’s soft when his fingers dig in gently, depressing with the pressure of his digits. Rollo’s green hues flick to your face. Your eyes are shut, and soft snores slip from your parted lips. He glimpses your chest again and, with the utmost care, slides your dress down to free your breasts. They’re mostly bare, save for the heart-shaped pasties covering your nipples. Rollo heaves a disbelieving sigh.

“Promiscuous,” he mutters, plucking the edge of the first adhesive and peeling it away to reveal the perky nipple beneath. You look so soft, so clean, so pure… What was he even worried about? No one’s had you before. He’s sure of it.

He’s about to remove the other heart when your voice freezes him.

“What…are you doing?”

He holds your gaze. It’s tense for a moment, unspoken accusations brewing between the both of you.

“A massage,” he blurts, but there isn’t a hint of haste in his tone. He suspected this outcome when he chose to traverse the line of right and wrong—and ultimately sided with the former. Because to him it’s right, even if it’s wrong. He knows what will soon follow: disgust and detestation.

Instead, you giggle. It’s sleepy and silly-sounding, but it’s also light and lively.

You catch his hand in yours and drag it back to your chest. “If you wanted to touch, just ask,” you murmur, your words slurring. “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

You’re not just perfect and pure. You’re everything.

Yes, it’s the alcohol blurring your brain and the intimacy of being trapped in a quiet, comfortable space such as this one that allows you to desire him. Would it be the same if you were sober? He can’t quite say, but he doesn’t wish to know. This is enough. This is paradise.

He kneads slow, steady motions into your breast, and you watch from where you’re lying on the bed. His other hand slithers between your legs to search for your clothed clit. Your breath hitches just as his fingers brush it, and he presses in, rubbing with his index. Your arm falls over your face, and your chest rises with every breath.

“How does it feel?” he asks, rolling your nipple between chilly digits.

“Not enough,” you bemoan, curling your fingers into a fist. “S’not enough…”

“How fascinating. I suppose cheap wine truly does turn you into a pute.”

“No… Was definitely expensive. The fancy kind.”

“Was it now?” He circles your clit, predatory and shark-like, his eyes alight with glee. “You say that, but look at the state it’s left you in. Utterly disheveled.”

“That’s because of—” you gasp, your voice rising in pitch— “because of you…”

His heart hammers in his chest, a resounding, pounding melody.

The City of Flowers treasures its goats, and the crow loves his fiercely even though he shouldn’t.

“Did you enjoy drinking yourself foolish and indulging in debauchery?” His fingers dance along your inner thigh, hooking around the hem of your underwear. “Was it a fun celebration?”

You lower your arm to glare halfheartedly at him. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“More so disappointed, mon chou chou,” he coos, sugary, sickeningly sweet. “Someone could have taken advantage of you. Someone could have tainted you with magic.” His lip curls up into a nasty sneer. It lingers for a moment before fading into something calm. He gazes at you, oddly tender. “That didn’t happen, though, yes?”

You shake your head and flinch when he drags your panties down. Dewy strings of your slick come away with it, and you shudder at your newfound nudity. He hums approvingly and drags his finger through the wet patch staining your panties. Driven by libertine compulsion, he stretches viscous strands of your essence between two fingers.

Your eyes find his deceitful greens once more. Silence sparks between the both of you, quickly broken by your exhalation. Rollo kneels before you, taking in the sight of you as your face wavers through the stages of consideration. Upon arriving at your conclusion, you sit up slightly and shuck your dress over your head. And then you’re lying back, shaking your panties from off your ankle, and wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him in closer. 

You grin, coquettish. “Why not search for yourself if you’re so worried, Mr. Student Council President?”

There’s no turning back. Not that he ever would. Not when the goat’s given him the signal. The blade doesn’t fall, but he does.

And this is better than dreams and erotica. This is real.

He surges forward to fit his lips against yours. Sloppy and inexperienced, he molds himself to your body. You tug him against you, your hands working to undress him. Clothes and shoes are cast aside between open-mouthed kisses, torn off half-buttoned and ripped away from soles. You breathe him in, gasping into his mouth. Translucent strings of saliva connect your mouths when you part, soon broken when you lean in for a chaste peck.

“You’re okay,” he says, the words practically bleeding onto your own tongue with how close he is. “Still as pure as the day I first met you.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“The best thing.”

His third and fourth fingers prod at the depths of your pussy, pressing inwards. Shallow at first. He watches your face unblinkingly, burning every pleasured contortion into his brain, and slides his thumb along your clit. Your breathing staggers, coming in quick huffs, and you grab at the bedsheets to steady yourself. Rollo works you open on those fingers, curling and scissoring in equal measure. The slick squelches join in the salacious symphony you’re currently producing. Every sigh and groan come together in perfect harmony. You’re a heavenly harp, and he’s plucking your strings like an expert musician.

“Tonight is unforgivable,” he adds, and you blink through blissful tears to view him. “Folly is the worst distraction.”

“Then be stupid with me,” you joke, running your hands over his shoulders. He’s so cold. “Warm yourself with me.”

And he will because he’s always wanted to. He’s desired it. Craved it. Coveted it. Thought of nothing else for days and days, each delusion so cyclical it often felt tangible.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, sliding his other hand up your hip and towards your rib. He traces the path of where it lies beneath layers of flesh before pressing down to feel it. “So beautiful…”

Your hand glides into his, fingers twining like silken thread around a spool. A lopsided smile lifts your lips, and you preen under him. “Yeah? Am I really?”

“I wouldn’t lie about the obvious…” Your walls hug his fingers tighter then, and a shiver electrifies your nerves. He hums again, quite pleased. “Oh, did you like that?”

“I did. Very much.”

Lashes fluttering against your cheekbones, your head thrown back in ecstasy ever-mounting, you render him ensorcelled. Like a prized Renaissance nude, a goat laid to sacrifice in the crow’s nest, you are beatific. Divinely so.

“Allow me to reiterate then.” He hastens his pace, pumping his fingers relentlessly. You tamp down a shameless moan. “You’re exquisitely beddable. A work of art. Enchanting. Une belle femme.”

You’re nearing the edge—very gradually, but not quite—and so it’s devastating when he slips his fingers out, each one thoroughly coated in you. They shimmer in the dim light, reminding you of where they had previously been.

“Put it back in,” you beg with wide, glossy eyes. “C’mon… Please don’t stop now. Was so close. So close and—”

Your complaints are curbed when you follow his hand as it moves to wrap around his half-hard cock. He strokes himself thrice, using your slick as lube, until his cock is curving up against his stomach. You stare at him; he stares right back.

And then you realize he intends to go all the way.

“Wait, Rol…lo… S’not my safe day,” you say, shifting away. Whether impatiently or anxiously, he can’t tell, but he can certainly guess. Your world spins once, a dizzying blur, before it promptly clears. In the very center of your vision, as he’s always been, Rollo remains. “S’not safe…”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with levity. “I know.”

He’s kept track, dutiful like always.

You attempt to crawl out from under him, but he stops you. Your stomach churns.

“I’ll pull out in time,” he promises, rubbing soothing circles into your plush hips.

Even with the alcohol still buzzing through your system, you aren’t convinced. “N-No, really, we should stop here…”

“You’ll feel so good. Come now, aren’t we nearly there already?”

Rollo lifts your legs onto his shoulders. You squirm with more determination this time, but his fingers dig into your thighs. With a startled squeak, you sink into the mattress, cowed into submission.

“We… We can’t.”

“Why not?” The smooth, soft head of his cock prods curiously at your pussy.

You chew your lip, admitting in a meek tone, “I… I could get p-pregnant…”

“Pregnant,” he parrots, tasting the word as if it’s a delicacy he has yet to sample. His cock twitches. “Pregnant…”

“So… So that’s why…”

“Do you not want children?”

“I… Well… Now is kinda…”

He presses onwards, sinking in slowly. Your breath hitches; your heart stumbles. The intrusion is not entirely unwanted, for your slick, snug walls cling to his shape, and you almost give in to bodily inclination. But it doesn’t feel right. You’re scared. No matter how naturally your body reacts, you don’t want this.

“Rollo, wait—”

“It would be a wonderful thing—to see you rounded with my children.” Rollo props himself on either side of you, his body pinned to yours in sinful, sweaty connection. He exhales a deep breath, restraining himself as he pushes deeper. Patience is a virtue, after all. Your expression tightens with discomfort, and so he peppers your face with placatory kisses. “To see you grow in and—mmh—out of the most flattering maternity wear. To behold every change that blesses this beautiful body of yours… To see you swell with my love, filthy as it may be. Ah, but pregnancy is just as messy… Nevertheless, it shall be a special bond for us—a sacred vow, if you will. We are connected here—” he punctuates this point by slotting the rest of his length inside, and your legs involuntarily close around him to keep him there— “and soon here when life develops within.”

One hand splays across your stomach to pat it with fondness. You choke on your helpless whimper when he rocks his hips once, experimenting with the movement. It’s awkward, but it reminds you that he’s inside. So close to your womb that in just a few more thrusts he might—

“No… No, please… Rollo, you have to—oh—have to pull out. Please pull out. Don’t wanna get pregnant…”

“Oh, but you would be so beautiful.” He breathes you in, savoring sex and floral fragrance. “If I’m allowed one miracle—just one for all the anguish I’ve endured—let it be this.”

You know not of what anguish he speaks, for he’s never verbalized it, but even so it can’t possibly be so agonizing that it would warrant such invasion.

The vise-like hold your velvety walls have on his cock is deliciously addictive. He groans while he ruts into you, his eyelids fluttering. He could be animalistic and cruel in his movements—ravish you as if the world is faced with annihilation and this is his final hour—but instead he settles for exploratory leisure. His hand fits into yours and he squeezes it gently. A feeble protest builds in your throat and so he swallows it with a hungry kiss, his mouth molding against yours.

Your nails dig into his shoulders when he draws back and slides in again, filling you deeper than before. You breathe between kisses, panting and licking into his mouth in even intervals. He does much the same, anchored to you in a way that is both temporary and yet so permanent.

The world narrows down to this single sliver of space, enclosed in a canopy. And in it, laid bare and fertile, the goat is sacrificed to the crow. Death cannot reach either one here. There is only the promise of new life, thrust upon the goat all at once.

You don’t have the willpower to object, for you’ve already found yourself entrapped, so instead you cry. Tears track down your cheeks; your mascara runs with it. Ruined. So, too, is your pitch-black lipstick, smeared along the edges of your lips and printed onto Rollo’s porcelain skin.

Rollo’s hips stutter to a halt and he holds you against him when he spills thick and hot inside. Nothing is wasted; it’s all emptied deep within. If you’re lucky, it won’t take. But if some mischievous fertility goddess has cursed you, you’ll wake nauseous in the coming weeks.

If you have anything worth praying for, it’s the former.

The both of you are panting in the aftermath, but only one is coming down from his glorious high. You remain unsatisfied, your peak not yet breached. Rollo rolls his hips once more for good measure before easing out. You crumple into the wrinkled sheets, frigid and still as a statue. Carved empty and hollow, yet stuffed with sin.

The crow has come. Though this time the gift of tragedy is something between boon and curse.

— — —

The curtains are drawn to let in sunlight. It filters in through frosted glass, each pane stamped with snow, and it blinds you the moment you try to open your eyes. You twist and turn in bed, feeling heavy with hangover. A splitting ache cracks your head in half, and you groan loudly.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you hiss, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “This sucks…”

You force yourself to wake after two more minutes of rolling around. Groaning once more, you sit up in bed. The canopy has been tied back in place, and when you glance sidelong at Rollo’s desk you notice something. A glass of water and a plate are waiting for you, seeming more enticing by the second. You throw the covers off, realize you’re nude seconds later, and promptly snatch them back. They’re wrapped around you like a comforting cloak. You stagger out of bed to check the contents. Two croissants, a single orange, a dollop of strawberry marmalade, and two tablets are arranged on the plate.

Hangover medicine, you realize, lifting one up to scrutinize it.

You peer around the room. It’s empty. And then you see the clock. It’s a little past noon.

“Oh,” you mumble, lowering into the chair. You clutch the blanket closer. “Rollo must be in class.”

Amidst the piercing migraine, which you quickly resolve by throwing your head back to swallow both tablets in a single gulp of water, two things occur to you. You’re in Rollo’s room. Naked. In Rollo’s room. Surely you must have spent the night after you returned from the party. Why are you naked?

But more importantly…

“Shit! My exam!” The excitement doesn’t help your current state, and you slouch in your seat, even more exhausted than before. “I completely missed it… Rollo’s gonna kill me.”

You scrub the sleep from your eyes and reach for a croissant, content with giving up. You don’t want to endure the walk of shame from Rollo’s room to yours. If anyone were to catch you, they’d certainly be left wondering.

As you nibble on the croissant, admiring the way Rollo’s arranged the contents of his room, you spot the edge of something beneath the plate. Perplexed, you push it aside to reveal a note. Penned in Rollo’s effortlessly pretty script, it reads:

I’ll forgive your transgression just this once if you’ll forgive mine. For now, get some rest. I’ve left breakfast here. Stay for however long you’d like.

You scowl at his attempt of ‘breakfast,’ and your stomach rumbles in dissatisfaction.

“Right?” you say to your stomach, clicking your tongue. “If anything, this is hardly a snack.”

But you’re grateful for his efforts. He cares. He always has. From the very first day you found yourself in this world, he cared.

While you peel the orange, pondering foggy recollections of last night, you begin to realize just how sticky you feel. As if someone’s slobbered all over you and left it to dry. The feeling persists between your thighs.

You pause momentarily, overcome with an uncanny sense of panic as you piece the puzzle together. The still-forming picture does not look good.

“Shit…” you whisper, haunted with a fragmented timeline. “What the hell did we do last night?”

You know. The deep, dark part of your brain knows, but you don’t want to confront it. Because Rollo wouldn’t, right? He couldn’t. He’s always done what’s best for you, so he wouldn’t.

Right?

[aereasrage]

The Favorite pt. 2

summary: If there is one trait the green children have all retained from their lady mother, it is their obsession with their little sister.

cw: very codependent mother-daughter relationship, platonic!yan!alicent, incest, incredibly dubious consent, voyeurism, mentioned animal cruelty, drugging, matching mother-daughter anxiety♥️

notes: the pairing for this chapter is mainly aegon x reader but that’s more a matter of plot setup. while there are jace x reader crumbs, we’ll get plenty of those two freaks (affectionate) later.

part 1

word count: 3.3k

Alicent’s decision to betroth her youngest to Aegon rather than Helaena was not one that came easily. It was also not one that came without resentment from her second son.

Logically, you should have been betrothed to Aemond or a lord from whichever house was suitable since it was Helaena who was born first and Aegon would have to wait years for you to be marriage age. But Alicent always knew she’d never marry you outside of your house, she needed you close at hand. A girl needs her mother, desperately, she knew that very well. She had suffered without her own mother, for it should have been her who guided her in matters of marriage, in holding her head high as a young girl living in such a tumultuous place as the red keep. But it would be different for you, she resolved. You would not suffer from being without your mother, you’d not enter marriage to a man you hardly knew. You’d have her as your eternal advocate. There were kinder men than your brothers who would have your hand, she could concede that much but Viserys had been kind and still she had been lost, had been isolated, she had still been wounded irreparably. No, what you needed most was to stay with your mother.

She thought of wedding you to Aemond, who followed you about like a little guard dog; but truly, she felt it wrong to marry Helaena to Aegon. She was a delicate girl, even more so than herself when she’d become queen. Aegon rejected even simply speaking directly to her when they were in the same room. Helaena was a strange sort of girl and though she loved her all the same, Alicent knew very well she couldn’t saddle the poor girl with the duties of a queen in addition to standing alongside a boy so unruly as Aegon. Aemond would be dutiful toward her, whether he wanted her for a bride or not. You, however, were the only one who would quell Aegon even temporarily. Your scoldings were the only ones that got any real reaction from him. He hovered near you and acted like a fool simply to hear your laughter.

She remembered that when you were small, you played with a newborn kitten you found in gardens. You’d insisted on taking him and his mother inside and caring for them as your pets. Aegon, who seemed to trail after you wherever you went then, had handled the poor thing too roughly and it had died. You had been so furious and bereaved that you refused to speak to him for weeks. In those weeks, Alicent witnessed her slovenly, shameless and apathetic son rush to and fro with gifts, trying to make you forgive him. To him, it had only been a game, a bit of fun, really. They were only little, what did their lives really matter? He had done the same with Helaena, crushing butterflies and moths in his hands in front of her. But even if he didn’t understand the fuss, even if he didn’t regret the act in and of itself, he truly felt remorse for hurting your feelings and even more so for making you so cross with him. He had stood outside your door drunkenly pleading every night before he went to bed. You were no fool. You could tell from his vague platitudes that he didn’t truly feel sorry for what he’d done, only for upsetting you. Which was why you continued ignoring him until he surprised you one night with the soft mewing of kittens outside your door.

You had rushed out to find a basket of orange kittens with Aegon standing nearby with a proud smile on his face. “Do you like them?” He had asked. You knelt to play with the wriggly kittens, they were mewing loudly, climbing over each other in the basket and they nibbled on your fingers when you pet them. You giggled. “Where did you find them? I hope you haven’t separated them from their mother.”

“Be at peace, sweet sister, I found them while I was about the streets. No mother in sight. You’re their mother now.” He clasped his hands behind his back tightly, hoping this offering would make you love him again. In reality, he’d been about the brothels, whining about the situation in the arms of a whore until she, a bit fed up with his weepiness, told him to simply buy you another kitten. King’s Landing was lush with cats coming and going from their owner’s homes, constantly getting pregnant and having squalling little babies that most would gladly sell if they could. Aegon had then lept up, tossed her some coin and set about his plan for redemption.

Alicent had never seen anything like it. Aegon bumbling about like a fool trying to impress you, to stay in your good graces when he wouldn’t do so much as be decent to stay in hers. She thought you’d make him a fine queen. It was your head that the crown would rest most easily on. Helaena would not be able to pull him this way and that as you did; and he would not be so kind to her as he was to you. So, she betrothed you to him and Helaena to Aemond. Aemond had his complaints but he knew his mother would only hear so many of them until she tuned him out. In his own eyes, he was the superior heir to the throne, dutiful and sedate but still it belonged to his worthless elder brother, he had come to terms with that much. He was only a second son, it was bitter and unfortunate but it was a matter of birth that was not to be mourned over forever. But to know that he had been denied his younger sister’s hand was enough to awaken that resentment again. Aegon was the firstborn son, he got to be unworthy and still have a bride above himself. Aemond was dutiful, he listened to their mother’s commands and what had he gotten for the trouble? His elder sister who should have been his brother’s bride.

What did Aegon know of love and duty toward you? It had been Aemond protecting you whenever Aegon was trying to lead you into some foolish plot outside the keep. It wasn’t fair. Why was he constantly being rewarded for his shamelessness? Why did duty not just go unrewarded but get penalized? It made his blood boil with indignation but there was nothing he could do except marry Helaena. Continue to do his duty as his mother insisted. He knew how to covet in silence.

Aegon once coveted his mother’s love, lamented that she did not love him even in his depravity as he felt a mother should. She had loved you since you were born but she could not even meet his eyes anymore. It gave him all the more reason to mope and stew in self pity, to brew an undue hatred toward you but as you grew, you were able to reach him with your smile. A giggle when he teased Aemond or when he made a fool of himself. You trusted him, loved him even. You, with the face of your mother, looked upon him with pleasure. He would have done anything to keep that. It was too late for Alicent’s love, he knew that much. But it would be easier to keep in your good graces, you didn’t really know him yet.

On the morning of your wedding day, Alicent helped you get ready. She sent away your maids as she often did. When you were just a child, she’d hover over them disapprovingly as they brushed your hair and admonish them for minor infractions until she simply snatched the brush from their hands with a sigh and took over. She hated for you to be touched by others, especially your lowborn maids. They didn’t understand how gentle you were, that you required an especially gentle hand. She was also the only one who truly knew what hairstyles you best suited. She knew how to put pins in your hair without hurting you even once, she knew how to braid your hair tight enough to hold but not tight enough to give you a headache. She loved your hair, she could not bear to see anyone mistreat it.

Today, you were to wear your house colors. Helaena sat on the floor, fiddling in your jewelry box, handing Alicent a golden necklace with rubies to drape across your neck. The cool metal made you flinch as it touched your skin. You were trembling, frightened of a day where all eyes were to be on you. “You look lovely,” Helaena said quietly. “I’ve never seen you in red before, it makes you look like a little ladybug.” You smiled at her, not wanting to ignore her kindness even despite your anxiety. “Thank you.”

Alicent stepped back to look at you. “You do look lovely,” she said, sadly. Her eyes were misted over with tears seeing you dressed befitting a Targaryen bride. You were but small to her. Here you were, looking as she did when she was wed to Viserys. It made her realize just how young and frightened she must have looked then. “Enough to bring the seven kingdoms to their knees.” She mustered a smile. Your fate was not hers, she assured herself, all you needed was your mother’s care and unlike her, you would always have it.

“I'm frightened…” You unraveled at your mother’s praises, giving away your façade to confess your anxieties to your mother who had always soothed them. Alicent pulled you into her arms delicately, so as not to smoosh your intricately done hair. “Oh, sweetling,” she murmured, tearing up. “It is alright.”

“The eyes of the whole court on me...” Your voice carried such a heartbreaking note of fear. You were near trembling in her arms, Alicent almost wished to put off the wedding entirely. She did not seek to wed you to Aegon for her own folly, but because you had to be wed as a princess and if not within the family, to someone outside who would steal you from her arms and perhaps harm you. And were she to send you to become a septa, you’d also have to part from her. You'd be alone and without her guidance. She knew why she was doing what she was doing and that it was the only thing to do, even so, it nearly broke her. But she was no longer a frightened child, she was the one whose job it was to be strong.

After holding you in her arms for some time, she soothed you and finally resolved to walk you down the altar. It was unusual for a mother to walk her daughter down the altar and tongues would certainly wag for her coddling you but she didn't care. If you could not go alone, she would always offer you her hand. She took your trembling hand in her warm, certain one and led you down to Aegon. When you reached him, she continued to hold your hand, standing to the side of you, mouthing the vows you'd near forgotten in your nervousness. Her eyes flitted about the sept, making sure everyone was behaving properly, she wouldn't have anyone embarrassing you with whispers of gossip. They could do that when they left the keep, when they were far enough away that she could keep their insults from reaching your ears.

Luckily, though it seemed there was a bit of talk, many found your timid disposition to be endearing or at least unsurprising due to your elder sister’s shared reticence. When you got to the feast, many already tipsy lords and ladies came up to you, speaking sweet words to wish you congratulations on the wedding. Still, it did little to lessen the anxiety you felt growing toward your next task as a wife. Aemond had given a toast in which he very pointed asserted that his sword would always be at your service and that if you should need a dutiful man to rely on, he would be at your side in a moment’s notice. Helaena had expressed her wish that all of your time would not be stolen away by Aegon. Rhaenyra and her lot were there, to her chagrin, her eldest son's dark eyes lingered on you, lusting for what was not his, as usual. She wanted more than anything to have him sent from the feast for leering at her daughter but she knew that would not do, she was at least glad that it escaped your notice. Rhaenyra had once offered a marriage bid between you and Jacaerys; seeing how well the two of you played as children but Alicent had, of course, refused. Aemond had been tasked from then on with keeping you away from all of her bastard boys, the Driftmark incident had only further strengthened her resolve. Had she let one of those boys lay hands on you, the gods only know how much you'd pay for it.

Alicent remembered her own wedding night, the pain and the odd need for her to stifle her tears. She remembered thinking of how strange it was that this man was now her husband, now with her in the most intimate way and even so, she had to keep up a certain countenance. She should not share her pain and displeasure with him. He was not just a man, nor her king or her husband, he was a job. Her heart was aching every moment just looking at you and remembering.

She had always resolved to help you through. She wouldn't dare let you suffer. She handed you a goblet of wine which you took without hesitation, drinking it down in hopes that inebriation would help you tolerate the night ahead. But Alicent had thought ahead and had your goblet filled with poppy wine to make you sleepy, pliant and unable to feel such fear and pain as she had. By the time you and Aegon bid your guests goodnight, you were in the clouds. But her job was not done.

When you and Aegon reached your chambers, Alicent followed, helping you onto the bed. Aegon gave her a look. "Really, mother...Don't tell me you need to see me bed her to believe I can." He was insulted by her feeling the need to hover over even his wedding night. How could she believe he'd do something untoward to the only sibling he truly loved? Aegon's mind swirled with undue indignation at his mother's presence.

"I won't have you damage her, Aegon." Alicent said, warily without any bite to her words but with a resolve that would not be argued against.

Meanwhile, as Aegon whined back to her, you laid on the bed which somehow felt softer than anything you'd ever slept on before, your mind gone away and into the sky with the dragons. You heard the murmuring voice of your mother and it made you feel warm inside, it made you miss her hand which had held yours before. "Mother..." you mumbled. Alicent was at your side in an instant, whispering soothing words as she carefully took off your wedding dress, “I'm right here, sweetling, it's alright." She draped it over the back of a chair and turned to Aegon, "I'll be looking over you, as often as need be. You've skirted your duties for too long now, I won't have you hurt her in another of your grasps for pleasure. She is your wife, not a whore.” Then, she perched in a chair near the bed, eyeing him mistrustfully

Aegon frowned and took off his clothes with a huff before her, climbing onto the bed, hovering over you. He was frustrated from his mother’s insult and his breaths came harshly as he struggled to proceed with the night with any dignity. He had trouble even getting it up, feeling his mother’s prying eyes on him, waiting to scold him. Your hand came up suddenly to cup his cheek, your bleary eyes meeting his and a soft smile tugging at your lips. That moment of tenderness was all that he needed. It fell into place nicely for him then. You were his lady wife, you loved him and finally, he could have you as any man wishes to have a woman. His mother’s uncertain gaze mattered nothing in that moment. All that mattered was you beneath him; soft, forgiving.

He was…made capable by just your hand on his cheek and his own hand went to his cock, stroking it to full hardness as he spit in the other to rub into you. He began trying clumsily to loosen you up. He had only ever been with whores and the stray serving girl now and again, he was unused to pleasuring a woman. He wasn’t sure carnal pleasure was something women like his mother and sisters felt, perhaps it was truly only a service that only baseborn women were willing to lower themselves to. Even so, he wished for you to cry out like they did, to writhe in pleasure under his ministrations. To prove himself to you and to your mother somehow.

Alicent sat quietly, already nauseous at the display. She wanted to cover your eyes, to take you back into her arms and have you only for herself forevermore. Yet, as a queen and a mother, she had to accept that it was his and your duty. She watched on with a stoic look. Her audience was necessary, Aegon hadn’t convinced her otherwise even with his whining, but it didn’t mean that it was pleasant for her. It was her duty to her daughter to make sure that you weren’t going to be hurt, no matter how unseemly it all felt. Mercifully, you were peaceful, sighing softly at Aegon’s machinations, as though you’d soon fall asleep. Your head lolled to the side, gazing at your mother who hurriedly put a small smile on her face. You smiled back, clearly still in the clouds, even as Aegon grew impatient and finally decided you were wet enough.

“Gentle,” Alicent hissed, a ball of anxiety in the corner of the room. Aegon did not acknowledge her save for a soft scoff but was a bit more careful in his actions…a bit.

It didn’t hurt much, there was just a slight sting with each snap of his hips. Otherwise, it didn’t feel like much of anything, either due to the wine or Aegon himself. But as you were lost between dreams and reality, you sighed softly at the gentle rocking of the bed. Aegon took this as your pleasure and he was further spurred on. He sped up, his own sounds of pleasure ringing out in the quiet room. Your dreamy expression was entirely due to the poppy wine but Aegon would never know that. All he could feel was the rush of pleasing his sister, of his own pleasure, of proving his mother wrong. He was overzealous, coasting on the desperate little burst of scarce pride it all brought him.

Meanwhile, Alicent’s body shuddered in revulsion and horror. She bit down hard on her lip, trying to suppress a strangled sound of distress. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. To watch her most treasured daughter…she did not have the stomach for it. It was her duty, one she’d taken on willfully but she had not been thinking of herself then. She had not been thinking of how much it would remind her of Viserys. She had nearly cried out herself when Aegon had first entered you. When the two of you were done—well, when Aegon was done, he slumped over to the side of the bed, apparently exhausted with his arm still around you. She sat for a while in silence, staring blankly into space and considering everything. You, however, were still just barely awake. “Mother…” you murmured just as she was trying to gather sense again.

Alicent snapped back into reality. “Yes, sweetling?” she breathed, overwhelmed by the display she had just seen but still wanting to attend you. She quickly grabbed a nightgown from your wardrobe to cover you.

“Stay with me, please,” you said as she pushed Aegon aside and carefully slid on your nightgown.

Alicent’s heart melted at the words. She sat at the side of your bed and wrapped her arms about you, pressing your head to her chest. Her voice wavered. “I would not dream of leaving you.”

[dinsbeskar]

[Never] Sleep Alone (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron’s obsession with you knows no bounds. He claims you, body and soul, in your waking and dreaming, so now it seems only right he takes what is his.

Can be read solo, can be read alongside my In The Dark series // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Sleep Alone by Bat For Lashes, Closer by Nine Inch Nails (that song is so Sauron coded!!), Oral Hex by Bludnymph (I've listened to nothing but horny EDM for a week)

Warnings: 18+ only!!! Smut!! Consensual Non Consent (CNC). S*mmo k!nk: he fucks you while you're asleep, but there is consent in place. Toxic relationship tbh, they're a little codependent/obsessed with one another. But also v soft, toothache soft. P in V sex, oral sex (female receiving), male masturbation, cockwarming, bodily fluids, creampie, maybe a lil breeding kink if you squint, praise kink, a little emotional manipulation (it's Sauron so??)

A/N: idek guys. I'm a sleepy girl, and I've been listening to s*mmo audio, this kinda just happened. But it does seem like a natural escalation, considering I've written Sauron as stalking you, and claiming you in your dreams. So tbh this isn't that far of a stretch. However I will not be offended if you guys nope out, totally fine!!! But I will not do the whole kinkshaming thing, sorry we're not here for it. Don't like, don't read! :) okay enjoy!

thesaurus.com my beloved, how many different words can we find for sleep lmfao

Word Count: 3k!

He loves watching you sleep.

And sometimes he follows you there, into your dreams.

But sometimes he just lies awake beside you, gazing at your sleeping form, prone and vulnerable, his alone to protect and worship.

When you wake, you usually feel the weight of his gaze on you, the warmth of his body pressed against you, but lately Sauron has taken to rising before you, depriving you of morning cuddles, which frankly will not do.

"Where did you go?" You ask him softly, as he climbs back into bed after much pleading on your part.

"What do you mean, love?" He replies, brow furrowed, as he kisses your shoulder, rubbing your back in slow circles.

"In the mornings, when you abandon me to a cold bed, where do you go? What could possibly be more important than your wife's comfort?" You turn over to face him, meeting his gaze.

"Does it matter, my love? I always come back if you call." He tries to handwave your question away, but his evasion only makes you more curious.

"No, really, I need to know, what are you doing that cannot wait until I rise?"

He huffs an exasperated sigh, still running his hands over your bare skin, trying to avoid your gaze.

"Please. While you're here, I want you all to myself, I don't want you leaving me without forewarning me." You hate how needy he makes you, how desperate for his presence you are.

He regards you for a moment with that intense stare that makes your toes curl, and you feel him on the edges of your mind, feeling you out for whatever he has to tell you.

"You can tell me, after all this time, there are no secrets between us." You are starting to get concerned now, what could it possibly be?

"I love you. So much, unbearably so sometimes. My affection for you knows no bounds, and if it were possible..." he trails off, studying you for your reaction, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously.

You can't help but beam, your smile spreading wide and lighting up your whole face. You know how he feels about you, because you feel exactly the same way. Emboldened by your radiance, he continues.

"If it were possible, my lust for you is so many times greater." There is a glint in his eye now that thrills you to your core, as you realise that perhaps it would have been less dangerous to leave it well alone.

"And when you're asleep, my love, wandering your dreams without me at your side, I cannot help but want to be close to you." He draws closer to you, every firm plane of his body pressed against you, fingers softly tracing your curves as you shiver under his gentle touch.

"I cannot resist you. I have tried, but you defeat me every time." You raise your eyebrows at his words, still a little confused, but your cheeks grow hot at his flattery all the same.

"You are so close to me, so vulnerable to my gaze, to my touch," he punctuates every pause with a kiss to your neck, forcing your eyes to flutter shut, listening to his confession.

"And if I wanted to have my way with you, to ravish you while you sleep, I could do so." Your eyes fly open, meeting his pitch black gaze, as goosebumps arise at the nape of your neck, heat pooling in your abdomen.

"But I resist." His heartbeat matches yours, racing in tandem as he edges closer to revealing his nightly activities.

"I take myself in hand, and imagine it's you instead."

Your heart pounds as you slowly realise what he might be asking for, your thighs rubbing together in anticipation.

"Your hand, your mouth, your hot wet cunt. But nothing compares to you, my love, imagination can only take me so far." His eyes are dark, pupils blown, as he grinds his cock against your ass.

"It is to thoughts of you that I fuck my own hand, yearning for your touch, unable to wait until morning when you rejoin me in waking."

"And that is where you go? Why do you not wake me, love, if you suffer so?" Your heart aches at the thought of your husband so deeply bereft, even with you by his side.

"Not always." He kisses your neck softly, stroking your side.

"Sometimes I lay next to you, breathing you in, inches from the very flesh I need to claim, spending my seed anywhere but inside you," he murmurs, his hot breath tickling your ear, "where you deserve it."

Your breath hitches and the throbbing in your clit will no longer be ignored. You reach down to take the edge off, but he takes your hand and presses it to his lips with a tsk.

"If I cannot have you when I wish, you certainly cannot, my love."

You whine and squirm against him, but he holds you fast.

"So when you wake, I am simply making myself presentable to you, my darling, that is where I am when you're searching for me, still walking the line between dreams and reality."

The idea of your husband satisfying himself as you lie beside him, blissfully unaware, has you rocking against him softly, the familiar coiling sensation beginning in your abdomen as his words ignite your insatiable desire for him.

"It can be so... pitifully lonely, watching you slumber, my love, but I never wanted to burden you." He smirks against your neck, his hands beginning to roam across your body.

"It would never be a burden, you are my husband, I want to please you, as much as you please me." He works so hard for your pleasure, that it would be remiss of you not to reciprocate.

"You need your rest, beloved, you cannot not entertain me all hours of the night." He chuckles softly, probing your mind for the seed he has planted, nourishing it to fruition.

You ponder for a while, the blood rushing to your cheeks as you come upon a solution that sends bolts of arousal to your core.

"Perhaps... no, it is foolish, forget I said anything." You murmur, worried that he will think you depraved.

"What, my love? Come now, are we not one and the same soul? You can share anything with me." With you still facing away from him, he does not have to fix the expression on his face, a wicked mixture of glee and anticipation as his idea comes tumbling from your lips.

"Perhaps, you need not wake me. Perhaps, you do as you will. If I wake, then so be it, but I would not have you suffer unnecessarily, my love." You're sure your face is glowing, how red and hot it feels; you're glad you're facing away from him so he cannot see it.

His long pause has you rattled, and you're about to lose your nerve and tell him it was just a foolish notion, when-

"You would have me... defile you, while you sleep?"

You can hear his concern, his bewilderment, but you cannot see the glint in his eye, the dangerous delight that paints his handsome features.

"If it disgusts you, love, please think no more of it, forget I said a word." Shame begins to course through you, nausea building even as arousal pools in the pit of your stomach.

He pulls you close, nose in your hair, and breathes in deeply.

"I could never feel anything other than utter devotion to you, my sweet wife. You think only of me, and offer yourself freely. How could I feel anything but adoration?"

Your heart swells, reaching out for his, his love smothering you like a blanket, encompassing you in his warmth and devotion.

"We would need some kind of... signal. To let me know what you want when you cannot tell me yourself." He might want you wholly, body and soul, but he wants you to be a willing participant, even when dreaming.

You nod, musing on what could be the most obvious sign that you were happy to have him claim you while you slept.

"Perhaps, underwear on, I attend to my own affairs." He murmurs in your ear, pulling you ever closer. "However, underwear off, I can ravish you as I please?"

It's a question, technically, but he knows you will agree.

"That does seem simple enough, and one could not mistake any intentions with such a... deliberate sign." With his arms still wrapped around you, you are beginning to fall asleep, but you turn around as much as you're able, craning your neck to kiss him softly.

"I love you." He whispers into your kiss.

"I know." You smile, rubbing the tip of his nose with yours. "I love you too."

You roll over and allow him to cuddle you, pulling his arm over your body tighter, holding his hand until you fall asleep. He regards you all the while, eyes fond, cock hard.

~

He traces his hands over your sides, gently, so softly, so as not to disturb you. You need your rest after all.

He peels back the sheets delicately, and you fidget a little; he holds his breath, staying still for a moment, but you remain sound asleep. Thank the Valar you're a deep sleeper.

He breathes a sigh of relief, before pressing on with exactly what he wants to do to you.

The night is warm, so you're covered only by a gauzy nightgown, the fabric of which is so thin, he can already tell you've forgone underwear.

This is the answer he needed to the question he can't ask you while you slumber.

You had agreed that wearing nothing under your slip was the sign he was free to do as he wished with you.

He trails his fingers up your thighs to find your cunt is already wet and waiting for him. You must have come to bed thinking of him; the thought frankly makes him weak, makes him want to wake you and ravage you until the sun rises.

But he won't ruin the fantasy on the very first night, at least not intentionally.

He spreads your thighs, being careful not to jostle you too much, wanting to satisfy everything you spoke about, for you and for himself.

He's always loved the taste of you, and while he loves bringing you pleasure, the simple truth is he can't get enough of you, and would spend days between your thighs if you let him, for purely selfish reasons.

He noses your clit, drinking in your scent, flattening his tongue and devouring you whole. He delves into your folds, sucking at your clit, looking up occasionally to see if he has disturbed you. Thankfully you remain asleep, though for a moment he would appreciate your trembling thighs wrapped around his neck.

He wonders if he can bring you to orgasm while asleep; perhaps a goal for next time.

But he is achingly hard for you, having resisted touching himself as he savoured your cunt. He strokes his cock once, twice, then lines himself up with your entrance, still watching and waiting for you to wake, sure that you will.

Sauron is sure he has never been more aroused than this very moment, admiring the view of his sweet, trusting wife, so vulnerable beneath him, allowing him to do exactly as he wishes while she gets her valuable rest.

His fingers slip inside you so easily, it's as if he belongs there, and he quickly replaces them with his aching cock, the head running over your folds before slipping inside your tight wet heat.

He groans, perhaps a little too loud, but he cannot bring himself to care while he is buried to the hilt inside you. He grasps your hips and adjusts you slightly, sliding right in, his balls slapping at your skin. He tries, he really does try to keep quiet, but you move in your sleep, trying to roll over, and he moans, long and loud, from the added sensation of you tightening around him.

"I'm sorry, darling, did I wake you?" He whispers after pausing a moment, half hoping you won't respond.

You grumble a little, pressing your hips harder into his, but you seem to fall back to sleep while his hips have stilled.

He resumes rolling his hips, hesitant to fully plunge his cock into the depths of your cunt, rocking in and out of you as you clench around him.

He has to be so quiet, he doesn't want to disturb you, but he needs this, needs to fuck you senseless even while you're not awake, the depths of his lust for you seemingly endless.

The fact you were unperturbed by his confession only made him love you more, that his depravity was shared in the other half of his soul. And the way you offered yourself to him so freely; his heart always sang for yours, but at that moment, your song was all he could hear.

When he is fairly sure that you're peacefully asleep, he ruts into you once again, his cock painfully hard as he draws out his own pleasure to save your slumber.

You clench around him, your body used to his ministrations, responding to his touch almost as if you were awake.

The only noises that can be heard in your chambers are his own deep breathing and the soft, wet sounds of flesh on flesh as he pounds into you, reassured by your continued repose.

He feels his orgasm draw closer, heat in his belly that threatens to engulf him whole. He throws back his head and gasps, his balls drawing up, readying for his release, as he kneads your pliant flesh, relishing in your curves. He reaches up under your slip, cupping your breasts in his large hands, thumbs circling your nipples. At this point, he no longer cares if you wake, thrusting erratically inside you, leaning down to lick and nuzzle your neck, to breathe in your sweet scent.

Your throat bared, he has the urge to sink his teeth into your soft flesh, to wake you with the unearthly pleasure that his torture would provide. That urge pushes him over the edge, spurting inside you, his thighs shaking in the effort not to collapse on top of you.

It is your tiny whimpers that bring him back to the present. He props himself up on one hand to find your eyes wide open, a sleepy smile gracing your face.

He smirks, drawing you in for a languid kiss, before he resumes lazily rutting into you, cock still hard and weeping, still ravenous for any sliver of pleasure you will grant him.

You let out a moan as he hits the sweet spot inside you, your toes curling with pleasure. He cannot help but regard you fondly, your eyes screwed shut, as you try to keep up the ruse for him even now.

He leans down to kiss the tip of your nose, before drawing back to ravage your cunt the way he knows you like best, circling your clit with his fingers.

Angling his hips the way he knows will torture you best and playing your clit like the master musician he is, he brings you to the edge of orgasm before halting altogether. You whine and squirm and pull his hips into you, but he nips your ear in warning.

"Not yet, love, together." He urges you breathlessly.

In response, you clench your walls around him, drawing a guttural groan from deep within his chest.

"Please, love, please, come with me." You murmur, tracing the contours of his back, digging your fingernails into his smooth skin.

You can feel his peak approaching again, as his lips on yours become more desperate, his tongue delving into your mouth as if searching for the meaning of life in your body.

"That's it, sweet girl, come for me, come now." He groans; he fills you again, spending his seed exactly where you both want it as you clutch at his skin, the coil in your belly releasing in a blazing heat that renders you speechless.

"Good girl, you deserve it, don't you? My sweet wife, not a drop wasted," he smirks, claiming your lips again, swallowing your desperate moans.

He languidly rolls his hips against yours, guiding you through your orgasm as your thoughts continue to evade you, nothing in your head but the feeling of your husband inside you.

You both finally fall back against the pillows, sated for now. He moves to pull out of you but you hold him fast, slinging a leg over his and refusing to let his cock leave you empty. He chuckles and pulls you close, your head on his chest, his iron embrace so comforting after the exertion of the evening.

"How long were you awake?" He asks with an affectionate smile.

"How long did you know I was awake?" You respond with a playful smile, sleepily tracing his jaw.

He hums, conceding the point.

"We can always try again," you murmur, sleep coming to claim you swiftly.

"I'm sure we will." His heart is so full that it feels tender, as if one more soft word from you would shatter it to oblivion.

"Love you, more than anything," you whisper, as if on cue, as he can do nothing but hold you and feel his black heart ache for his impossible love of you, kissing you softly before nestling his face in your neck.

[yandere-daydreams]

so is the amputation thing like he likes to cut off your limbs and then go to town on the stumps? or use the amputated parts to stuff you or himself with?

tw - amateur amputation, unhealthy relationships, forced codependence, and controlling behavior.

in purely my own defense i think it's less of a physical 'jerking off on the bloody stumps' thing and more of a 'masturbating to the thought of you never be able to physically get away from him' thing. he's just got such condensed abandonment issues that, as soon as you two hit your first rough patch and the extent of his obsessiveness starts to show, the 'please don't leave me please don't leave me please don't leave me' mantra that's been playing in the back of his head since he met you shifts to something more along the lines of 'don't let them leave don't let them leave don't let them leave' and he,,, gets the urge to make it so you can't leave, whether that means severing the legs you would've used to run away from him or breaking the hand you'd slapped him with when he offered to pay his way out of your last argument. he'll usually panic and take you to shoko to get fixed up in a few hours, but the fact that there's no lasting damage doesn't mean he can't get hard every time he pictures you all cute and helpless, unable to walk or eat or breathe without his help, and it doesn't mean the next time he does something unforgivable (because there's always going to be a next time), he can't put off your visit to shoko for just a little longer, spend just a little more time bouncing his cute little fuckdoll on his cock despite the bitter tears rolling down your cheeks, the way your voice shakes as you whimper his name.

he's also be the type to want to have some part of you on some part of him at all times. it might be enough to carry a lock of your hair close to his heart early on, but as the regenerated limbs stack up and he's given more time to toy with the idea of more permeant changes, he might decide that a vial of your saliva is more romantic - or better yet, a ring made out a few of your finger bones. just pray you don't have the same blood type. he might find out about kidney transplants and get some ideas.

[cherri3berri3s]

When Today Comes ┃Ticci toby x Reader

Warning: possible relationship codependency, mentioned cannibalism + descriptive homicide

An officially unofficial part ii to "I Got Law" that could be read + interpreted separately. The synopsis is same as follows ↓

Synopsis: You're awakened one morning to see your boyfriend shaken with doubt. What's on his mind? (Toby's Perspective)

Word Count: 1.4k + words

Part I → "I Got Law"

And the morning was evil,

Doing all it could to steal her from me.

Killing the clock with much suppression as I'd felt when I looked at her face. The only thing between me and godliness was the sound of love dripping from her sorrowed voice. Not making me feel as clean as I'd hoped for the events to come.

How do you do this type of thing anyway? Turning yourself in;

Do you announce, 'Yeah, I murdered someone' with pride before ultimately waiting to get picked up by the speedy fuckers in robust cop cars.

Should I walk there myself? Take the long route?

It's not like I could hold back the inevitable any longer, it's already decided that I should go.

"Vogel," I prepared, "Can I get one more kiss before I go?"

"If I do, will you come back." She said dryly, accepting all that's become of the situation.

"Vogelchen," I uttered, softness meeting my voice and eyes, "Of course I'm not coming back. I'll probably be dead by tomorrow."

And for every part of me to think that felt so true. I'd been at this too long that death came to be second nature. Enjoyed by none but me each time, and all stares pointed back to me. 

I see them as they see me; the ones I've killed. Difference is, I'm the one with the audience.

I like the feeling as much as I hate it. It's almost as if I'm being judged for something I enjoy. Yet, I had the power to defy all the looks that wanted me as dead as them. I'd relish in that power all year if I could. And now I'm prepared to turn myself in, but between me and them, it's far from experiencing feelings of remorse.

For each time a victim cried I felt bolder. And each time they fought back, I fought back harder till their blood spilled. It was a job that I liked, and an unsubstantiated urge I'd love to fill. Undoubtedly, I guess I loved it as long as it meant it didn't reach her. Now I see I'd failed all too embarrassingly at preventing it. 

Easing into that car seat, I felt her presence. Feeding into my drive to speed off as I know I should've. All before my body told me not to, and before he tells me not to. 

Before I choose not to do it.

I’d remembered instead, when we first met. As our relationship had begun.

 I was a sleazy pawn to the operator. I would do all that he asked of me. And all that he asked of me was fine, even if it wasn’t as righteous as it felt.

“Y’know, I’ve definitely seen you somewhere.”

 “Where?“ 

“Some magazine or something at the store.“ She grinned. Laying on my lap tenderly as the breeze wafted past us, less gentle than the autumn sun.

Never mind my matter-of-fact tone when I answered, unfazed and sounding nonchalant in each reply. She looked up at me all the same. Those eyes killing sores rested within mine.

“I don’t model,”

“And if you did, that’s exactly where I’d find you.” The damp grass lazed beneath us. Little bugs crawling past my shoe in a fit of determination, racing to beat the setting sky.

“Here, lemme see-“ she said, grabbing my jaw to redirect her gaze into mine. Her eyes squinted and refocused as my hair had fallen past my shoulders. Relaxed as I looked down at her ever so closely. 

“Yeah… that’s a cover boy if I ever seen one”

“W-What about me screams cover boy?“

“You smile with your eyes,“

“Ew, I got crow's feet?”

“No,” she detest shockingly. Holding back a laugh as she props up just a bit “You never watched Tyra Banks? The ‘smize’ doesn’t ring any bells?”

“I barely had cable,” I said begrudgingly, shaking my head as I’d become amused with her peaked interest. “I watched p-public service Christian shows at best.”

“And never watched Tyra?!“

“I barely know who she is,” I smiled confusedly, lighthearted as I attempted to maintain seriousness. “My dad w-w-would force me to watch WWE if he thought I wasn’t being m-manly enough.”

“Boo,” she disagreed abruptly, holding out the ‘oo’ sound as she plopped back down on my lap.“You know more about Hulk Hogan and public service than the real important shit”

“Modeling’s important?”

“If I was blessed with your features, it most definitely would be.“ She claims. A chuckle escapes my throat and kisses the air, protest meeting my face as a result. Her eyes holding onto mine as I just couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

“I’m being serious,” she smiles, eyes widening to convince me otherwise. “I think you’re the hottest guy I know.” her hands raised in defense, standing by the words spewed from her lips.

“I think you’re crazy,” I say, my hands resting on her hips in content. Stroking lovingly as our eyes lay amongst one another the way they’ve always have.

“And you’re a train wreck,“ a stray hand reaches out to caress the edge of my face where my scar lies. Treating me far more delicately than I knew I deserved. Far more delicately than I knew I’d ever been. The open field we were in overcrowded my judgment, producing a warmth that embodied all I had been experiencing in the cool of that day.

 “Do you think that’d make me stop loving you?“ Her eyes wandered, searching for even a hint of how I felt given the secluded embrace of the moment.

“You should.”

– And now, foot pressed against the peddle, gripping the steering wheel as roughly as I was, I couldn’t find it in me to disagree.

I never told her about the reluctance I had felt when wanting to hold her, even though it resulted in a tight everlasting grip on her flesh. The pads of each of my fingers suckling into her skin. Nor did I admit to the readiness I felt for wanting to end her life; suspecting that she had found out about my beyond most dangerous endeavors.

For so long, I’d wanted to. I accepted coming to terms with what had to be done. What the whispers said was a job most notably left for me alone. What I suppose was his plan all along. 

I'd do anything the operator asked of me. The only moral code I’d bothered to stand by after life for me changed. I saw all I was willing to give up, making the fullest assumption that my mind was no longer my own. That I had to sacrifice to live.

It didn’t bother her witnessing that sacrifice firsthand. Blood trickling along the wooden slickness of the floor. Producing such a pretty sloshing sound, tickling the inside of my ears. My hands feverishly clasping on the meatiness of the person‘s neck below me. 

Each slam cascaded with a distinguished crack, the moment their head collided with the floor. Their face bloated, black and blue in contrast to the deep red seeping underneath.

I wasn’t ready to tell her it felt so damn good. Too good as I licked my fingers devilishly of the steaming hot liquid messily staining my hands. Eyes rolling with a moan indistinguishable from one of immense pleasure. 

Had I not blacked out into an ill-fitted rage, I would’ve remembered her being there.

She didn’t mind the object sight of cannibalism displayed before her. In fact, she was no fearful accomplice, helping me cover it all up until not even a blotch was left to see.

I wanted desperately for her to be next. To be the one I was indulging in; just as she would let me.

I sat awake understanding all it had meant for us. What I’ve done to a perfectly sane relationship as I wanted to keep it. I wanted her to ignore the signs, remaining blissfully ignorant to the extremities expressed by my sickness.

To want normalcy, and not me.

I drove closer to the precinct, hungering for a chance to go back. Pleading that, as once before, I’d misunderstood my own place. He needed me to rid myself of all distractions. That’s what she was- That’s what she is. 

She is.

I hadn’t seen it then, but I was back at her place shedding my skin, as today was finally here.

I've realized that I love writing for toby so goddamn much because I get to experiment with all his complexities. I just hate when it feels like there's a thousand times more shit I could add (or as if I'm not doing him enough justice).

You're free to reblog all you like!

© CHERRI3BERRI3S - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOUR OWN

[deadbaguette]

Can we maybe see some PenDio? 🥹 What their love is like?

Some PenDio for the soul! I would LOVE to elaborate on them (assuming this is in context of my Diomedes goes to Ithaca AU)🙏

I think I’ve talked about their dynamic in one of my other posts/asks but to sum it up:

Their relationship cannot be encompassed in one word! It’s neither romantic nor platonic, but it’s not a friends with benefits type situation. The word I used for it before was ‘partners’ and I still think that’s the best word. They’re not husband and wife, but they’re not just good friends either. Initially it was a relationship of convenience; scare the suitors off until Odysseus comes back. But they’ve been doing this stalemate for YEARS, but neither of them want to change the state of their relationship until Odysseus is back/confirmed alive.

That’s another thing. Odysseus is absolutely haunting the narrative here lmao, he’s vital to the different relationships in this AU even if he’s not physically there. They won’t make things official because “that’s Odysseus’ wife”/“I’m Odysseus’ wife”, and both of them are pretty aware of this. Still, it doesn’t take away from the fact that they DO love each other. They’ve been there for each other in a way no one else in the kingdom can be. Despite having never met prior, there’s an understanding and connection between them that’s been there because of their intertwined backgrounds. They love Odysseus, and they love each other too. Not in spite/despite the fact they love Odysseus, it’s a simple love that coexists and at the same time is connected.

But to talk a bit more about THEM: It’s definitely a domestic heavy moment relationship with a questionably healthy amount of codependency. It’s a simple thing! Have you ever loved someone for just being there? Yeah, that’s what this is. They don’t need grand gestures or proclamations of love. It was a love that was realised and embraced in its simplest form. They’ll be content to sit in each other’s embrace and Penelope tells Diomedes of Telemachus’ early years, Penelope will tends to to the hair that Diomedes grew out for Odysseus while he recounts their years together in the war, and even something like a simple indulgence of how was the other’s day is all they need.

A little more headcanons about them before I finish the post:

Diomedes is quite romantically dense. He often misses the signs of romance (whether he’s the one doing or receiving the signs). While Penelope, much like Odysseus, is very aware of this thing. It doesn’t cause problems for them, but it was a little confusing at first. One time they sat at the beach for hours, exchanged a genuinely heart felt conversation, and when Penelope gave him a small kiss (on the cheek!) he was a little taken aback and ??..!?!,,!??!!!! Not in a bad way though

While I don’t hc Diomedes to live in the palace, I imagine when they are close, they’re CLOSE. Like not in the very in your face type PDA, but their knees might always be touching or a sturdy hand on the other’s shoulder or intertwined with the other’s hand.

They make each other smile a lot, but not in the way Odysseus did. Being with Odysseus brought a bright big smile to their face, or evening filled with soft laughter. But Pendio? It’s a small smile, not worth any less, but a reassurance or a grounding force.

All in all, there is a space for Odysseus when he comes back, because that space was never taken. But in his absence, I do like to think Penelope and Diomedes grew closer. Sorry if this is a little incoherent! They make me a little insane 😭

[morgana-ren]

Astarion in a relationship with Tav slowly but surely gets more used to physical touch as a form of reassurance and comfort. In Baldur’s Gate Astarion gets more anxious, Tav sensing his anxiety holds his hand. It anchor’s him to reality. He gently strokes Tav’s hand with his thumb, it’s small but he’s extremely grateful.

Everyone in the party is chiding Astarion for his sudden change in attitude around Tav though. Especially Lae-zel.

It would take a very long time, and when it happened, it would become a sort of strange codependence. Vampires stand ever at the precipice of an endless, abyssal eternity, and I feel that makes them very susceptible to the traditional and almost primal idea of a 'mate.' You have to have some sort of anchor to reality when you're robbing the mind of its one certainly: mortality. Cazador clearly chose his cruelty and dominion, and I think that and his experience is influencing Astarion to do the same, but he isn't Cazador, and he shows that-- whether he means to or not.

During the early part of their adventures, Astarion is very heavily masked, or 'chameleoned' around everyone. He has this posh, pompous air of arrogance and flamboyance, and uses his wit and snide sarcasm as a defense mechanism to keep everyone at arm's length. You can see it start to crack when he gets emotional or is surprised, or even just doesn't have things go his way. He is rash, angry, and explosive - feral almost. A fanged creature baring claw and teeth because that is all he knows, and when threatened, he reverts to his true nature, despite that it was forced on him.

For example, when he is trying to inspect his scars and you offer to help and he is surprised, he snaps on you. He is quick to apologize and rescind what he said, but that's him putting that mask back on. It's clear he is very angry and losing control now that he can finally view his situation through an unobscured lens and it's still frustrating.

He quickly realizes that he's shown a crack in his armor and straightens his spine and sucks it up for the sake of the facade. It happens a few times, but it's so, so hard to wear that heavy mask for weeks into months as he travels, and harder still to hide from someone who cares about him when he's spent so long in the dark alone.

Astarion shows fairly early on that he isn't averse to touch— just touch he doesn't approve of. Assuming you do the right things, he'll lie with you fairly early, but he makes it relatively clear that this isn't love. He'll even tell you outright that he'd say it but it's a lie. He is purposefully distancing himself because he doesn't want any distractions, any weakness, any vulnerability.

But this is all new-- so dreadfully, and terribly new. He doesn't even remember his life before Cazador, so in a sense, all he has ever known has been cruelty. Thorns and brambles hardly make for comfort, especially when they're self-imposed. Eventually, he might come to the realization that he doesn't have to go at this alone, and why should he? Eternity is such a long time to spend on one's own.

He gets nervous. He gets anxious. He pushes on but there are situations that blatantly frighten him. He stiffens his upper lip and handles it like he thinks he should-- on his own, with his fear shoved aside in his mind and his goal in front-- but would relenting be such a bad thing?

Taking comfort where he can find it: In the kindred spirit he found on the roadside. Someone who happens to be one of the only ones that knows what he's going through at the moment-- and one of the only people in the world that seems to understand him on some level. Having someone at your side doesn't have to be a vulnerability-- it can be a strength. Two blades are better than one, and life is so much easier when you have someone there to watch your back.

It's a small touch-- gentle and hardly noticeable at all-- just a subtle hand-hold, or a little grasp on the arm; standing closely enough together that you can feel each other's warmth or perhaps a tiny, inconspicuous nuzzle. It means the world to him, when he allows it. It shows him he's not alone-- and he doesn't have to be. When they can't indulge fully in each other far from the fireside of camp, he can take comfort in Tav's warm and gentle touch no matter how far from the light he must stray.

As far as he is concerned, everyone else in their merry band of men can fuck off. He couldn't care less about their opinions. Perhaps they're bitter, or maybe they're jealous and covet what he's found in Tav. Either way, they can drown in their own tears over it.

[guess-that-ship]

S12 Finals

codependent bodyguard arrangement

Since childhood, Prince and Guard were raised together. Prince was groomed to be his father's heir while Guard would be his loyal protector. They have a magical bond that lets them feel each other's emotions which made them absolutely inseparable to the point where as kids caretakers had to pick them both up at the same time so they wouldn't cry.

When they were fifteen their court was attacked and the two of them were the only survivors. Guard is extremely protective of Prince and to him nothing matters more than his safety. Guard wanted to go with Prince despite a prophecy that he would die if he went because he NEEDED to watch Prince's back. It's said at one point that Guard would have been fine if a whole building collapsed and killed everyone in it so long as Prince could make it out okay. Prince on the other hand is fully aware Guard would die for him and under NO circumstances is he letting that happen. Prince's boyfriend told him that he's aware he'll never be the love of Prince's life because that spot belongs to Guard. They're like two stray cats you can't adopt separately. Also they (and the rest of their found family) have adopted like five kids between them.

You can't clearly define their relationship. Not platonic not romantic not siblings but also all of those at once. They are just soooo obsessed and in love.

Survivors of Literally Everything

cw: spoilers

Character A and Character B meet after Character A kills a monster, waking up to Character B standing over him, and his first thought, despite the fact that he has no idea where he is, is that she's pretty. Eventually, they get sent on a quest together, and at first don't get along (although much later it's revealed that she developed a crush on him during this quest). However, being put in a number of near-death situations ends up bringing them together, and they become close friends. A couple of years later, Character B is kidnapped, and Character A puts his life in danger countless times just to save her. Sadly, just when he manages to save her, he finds out he's essentially cursed to die in two years.

Character A and Character B, over the next two years, manage, with the help of many allies, to tip the stakes in their favor, just a little. The thing is, tensions have been brewing in their fantasy world, and after barely escaping death for an even higher number of times, full-out war breaks out. When the final battle ends, it turns out that Character A wasn't the one cursed to die after all, that it was a very complicated guy they'd been fighting the whole time. This all ends in them finally kissing.

But it isn't over yet. Shortly after this, Character A mysteriously disappears. He finds himself somewhere completely unfamiliar, with no memory, apart from one thing: Character B's name, and he knows he has to find her. Character B is tirelessly looking for him as well, to no luck. After making a deal that almost costs him his life, Character A regains his memory, before he, Character B, and a few more people are plunged into a second war, somehow even deadlier than the first. They end up being thrown into hell, because Character A refuses to let go of Character B's hand as she falls. Somehow, they survive, and after all the dust has settled, they finally go and start a semi-normal life.

[mysterycitrus]

hi! i just got finished with the second chapter of persephones in hell and!! such a great dick fic and i loved getting to see the titans. but i’m feeling like i’m interpreting things wrong wrt bruce and wanted to clarify.. what are you thoughts on bruce? ik he’s obsessive and has a tendency to manipulate and shut out those close to him, but i’ve never gotten the feeling he’s actually physically or emotionally abusing these kids. i’m picking up a vibe in the fic tho that some of the titans think bruce is abusive (towards dick at least) and i’m wondering if it was your intention to write bruce that way, or just that he’s perceived as such? (i’m aware also that dicks perspective is justifiably skewed)

i could just be over thinking it. sorry for bothering you. i don’t mean this in a “problematic bruce get cancelled” kind of way. i feel bad if it comes across that way sorry i’m just genuinely curious :)

hello! i won’t go into specifics cause this is like… the thesis of part three, but no — i personally don’t subscribe to the idea that bruce is an irredeemable abusive asshole. there’s plenty of evidence for him being one in comics, but a lot of it is dregs of frank miller era masochismo, and i prefer batman to be fundamentally kind.

in saying that tho — the titans are right. i think u would be very hard pressed to find a comic where bruce and dick (of all his kids) don’t have an unhealthy, codependent relationship. bruce inspires debilitating loyalty in many people he works with, but dick has it the absolute worst of everyone because he’s been emotionally regulating bruce since he was eight years old.

when people say dick was parentified, i think there’s some confusion about what it means in this context. it’s not about a child raising their younger siblings (dick was out of the house and an adult by the time jason came around) but more that a child is made responsible for the emotional well-being of their parent. we see this in scarecrow year one, in teen titans year one, and sporadically all over canon. the titans, looking in, see dick still carrying bruce’s expectations well into adulthood and hate it.

i also think bruce being a maliciously abusive character is a disservice to the characterisation of everyone else — there is absolutely no way dick would’ve let bruce adopt anyone else if that was the case. there’s no way babs would. tim isn’t an idiot, he would’ve kept his distance. same with jason. cass has a very twisted understanding of pain, but she could literally read his body language and be able to tell if he was hurting someone on purpose. clark and diana would snap him like a twig.

i think it’s a lot more interesting if a kind person who wants to do good is so pathologically afraid of losing the people he loves that he’ll hurt them in response, and was so traumatised that after twenty years his sole pillar of emotional regulation was a boy who’d just suffered the same trauma he had.

[loving-family-poll]

Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 2

Homestuck fanart by Timsel-kun on deviantart

Propaganda under the cut:

Beverly/Elliot:

Hot lesbians both played by Rachel Weisz! And they're canon in the book it's based on, and like HEAVILY implied to be for realsies in love and fucking in the show. Great lesbianism, great incest

There's literally a scene where elliot is listening intently to beverly having sex in the next room, and she like moans listening to it ok

Beverly's gf breaks up with her cuz she's weirded out by the twins relationship

Beverly likes to attend a support group for ppl with dead siblings and pretend her sister is dead like the psychosexual issues here.....

beverly and elliot were literally trying to have a child together. Elliot (a gynecologist) artificially impregnated Beverly MULTIPLE TIMES

Dave/Rose:

Daverose blondetwin sweep because they were codependent without ever meeting from growing up seeing each other in their dreams

What does it mean to be an abused teenage boy growing up alone and seeing a girl in your dreams every night who is also your best friend. and when you finally meet her you go on a suicide mission together even though nobody was asking you to die with her. and then you are the only two human beings left in the recognizable universe on a cold meteor surrounded by aliens but you’re glad it’s with her. and when you finally touch the girl from your childhood dreams she looks exactly like you. because she’s your sister

I don't have words for how good these snarky assholes are together. DaveRose is brain chemistry changing. They both put up so many fronts, and engage in so much snarky wordplay, and are constantly trying to get under each other's facade. They play off each other so well, witty and sharp, I need them to be together always

We all die & we all die alone are the two cold truths of the universe but dave and rose broke both simultaneously by ascending to godhood together

Their twincest wins because it is just so confusingly tragic? profound? dave leaving rose behind in a doomed world, dave following her to the bomb. they are both so closed & cut off & curt its hard to imagine the depth of these things. but that is their love language: giving up their lives for each other over and over, in a confusing and fumbling and heartfelt love song. i can’t say i love you but i know we’ll die together anyway. because we’re made of the exact same stuff. i’ll find you again at the last moment. that’s love.

THEY DIED TOGETHER, YOUR HONOR

Confirmed canon by the author, (something happened) between them. Parallels of dying by each other's sides in EVERY timeline. They are THE womb-to-tomb. There is nothing platonic about winking at your brother while talking about crushes, that shit is incestuous. Seer/Knight archetype. They will die protecting each other.

do you realize love someone if you don’t follow them on a suicide mission into the gaping maw of a literal fucking sun after they knock you out and psychoanalyze you in your dreams? the blueprint of the “ethereal androgynous blonde boygirl twins” trope. witch/knight dynamics. they find each other to die together in every timeline no matter what (but they’re still emotionally constipated teenagers who bicker and make fun of each other in pesterchum). kids with grown-up powers. perfect little freaks of nature. what if we looked exactly like each other’s eyes

[thehigherseekerastro]

Hello and Happy Holidays! I was wondering do you know what Synastry aspects & overlays indicate being very attached at the hip? To the point that it might seem very odd to see one without the other?? "We're a packaged deal"// "Hey, where's your shadow?"// "You guys are just two peas in a pod"// "With us you get a two for one special" Kind of energy/vibe. Thank you for your time, and hope that there is plenty of Holiday joy and cheer for you and your loved ones!

Hiiii, love! Happy holidays! And thank you very much for the well wishes. I wish you the very same back! 🩷

I always try to be as honest as possible here with my astrology content, so I'll say that I am not sure I am the best person to answer this question, but I will try to answer you to the best of my ability.

First, I will give you some cautionary ideas, but then I'll give possible positive outcomes of the synastry you asked about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Synastry: External x Internal

The first thing to point out would be the manifestation of said synastry. What is it exactly that you want? Because it can look different from the outside than it feels like for the two people in the relationship. You could be talking about a synastry that LOOKS (external) like they're conjoined twins and happy about it, but FEELS (internal) like an obligation or suffocating for them. Or you could be talking about a synastry that is very private in display, so it seems cold or distant to the outside, but in their intimacy they're very attached.

You might even be looking at synastry that has veered into sibling-like/platonic convenience territory, and the romantic love isn't that strong there anymore, but they're still maintaining the habit of doing everything together. Perhaps a synastry that talks less of mutual adoration and more of codependency and lack of individuality.

It's important that when we look at synastry we don't romanticize the appearance of it (and that includes our idealized fantasies of what the perfect love would look like), and rathe focus on the FEELING of that synastry, because at the end of the day, it should feel good, healthy and mutually respectful, regardless of the vibe it gives off.

Synastry: Does all "good" synastry feel good?

Ever heard the phrase 'too much of a good thing is a bad thing'?

Now, here, I don't mean quantity, but rather intensity.

Having that type of synastry you talked about... are we sure it feels right for everyone? And HOW did we get to that point of being so close all the time? Was it because of a constant need for the other's company or is it possessiveness and an imbalance of power? Because synastry can describe both, and it can make one look like the other.

My point is to say that you could have no such aspect with someone and grow a very close and flowy connection, just like you can have that type of synastry and it goes overboard and turns harmful, but one would never know from looking at it superficially.

How much synastry does it take?

The answer is: more than you expect.

You see, while we'll often see analyses for individual placements online, that is done only to make it more simple to understand, but one aspect alone cannot realistically carry an entire connection. You are not gonna behave an entire way just because you have that one aspect or overlay. In real life, just like you need to look at the entire chart to describe a person, synastry aspects NEED support and combination with multiple aspects/overlays.

The reason being that the same aspect can cause different effects for different relationships. Codependency between lovers and codependency between family members are different things, for example. But they can come from having the exact same aspect/overlay.

So, like a puzzle, synastry needs multiple pieces at the same time to formulate an entire bigger picture and differentiate one thing from another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Assuming that you are talking specifically of synastry between a healthy and happy and loving couple...

It would need to be a combination of both emotional and physical synastry, so one Mars this, or one Moon that, is not gonna cut it. It needs multiple placements going in the same direction. So apply this if at least 2 or more aspects are present at the same time:

•••• •••• •••• •••• •••• •••• •••• •••• ••••

* Rising conjunct rising *

No, not rising in the other's first house. It needs to be conjunct. Sometimes, not even having the same rising sign is enough if it's not conjunct.

If you use the Placidus system and you have a Leo rising at 21° and someone else is a Virgo rising at 7°, their rising will fall inside your 1st house – that does NOT mean you have the same rising sign, nor that your risings are conjunct.

If you are a Virgo rising at 2° and someone else is a Virgo rising at 28° degrees, you do have the same rising sign, but your ascendants are NOT in conjunction.

When the risings are in conjunction that indicates a similar way of going about life, carrying oneself, behaving and expressing. It COULD go the other direction and turn into rivalry, though. If it doesn't, then the people should naturally behave very similarly, and that creates a feeling of "ease" with the other person, because you don't have to be explaining yourself, they just act like you naturally.

* A combination of Cancer + Leo + Scorpio placements between the two *

That means that the two people have placements in those three signs. They don't need to both have all 3 signs in their chart at the same time, but they do need to have at least 2, and if they have the same sign it's even stronger.

For example: If Person A is a Cancer sun, with a Leo moon. And Person B also has a Leo moon and has a bunch of Scorpio placements in their chart.

Cancer is a naturally clingy and attached sign, so Person A will naturally want to be attached at the hip with the person they love. The closer they are, the more stable, safe and secure Cancerians feel, so they need emotional and physical proximity to feel like things are under control and safe. They see emotional compatibility as a sign that things are going right and they found the right person.

Leo is a fire sign, but it's a fixed fire sign, so it's also very attached to what it knows. Being a fire sign, Leo IS guided by their desires and wants, but unlike the other two fire signs (Aries & Sagittarius), Leo is not fickle. It doesn't change plans on a whim, on an impulse. Specially in love. But it feels emotions very ardently and deeply. So Leo wants to be obsessed with their partner and it wants their partner to be obsessed back.

Scorpio is another fixed sign - like Leo -, and another water sign - like Cancer -, so combine the two and you get a Scorpio. Scorpio is deathly committed, it's obsessive in it's love and it is dead set on one target and one target only. It wants to know its people deeply, inside and out, all of them. ALL of them. Which means Scorpio doesn't ever get bored or tired of their lover. They would gladly spend 24 hours + 7 days a week + 12 months with their lover.

That means that these placements naturally have a need to be around that person constantly and they thrive on doing and wanting the same things. So this can cause the two people to do everything together all the time, to a point in which they create their own little bubble and their own world, in which others from the outside can't really get in. At times, they might even forget others are even around.

* Same moon sign *

That means what it says. They have the exact same moon sign. Their moons don't have to be necessarily conjunct, but they DO need to be in the same sign.

So if you have a Sagittarius moon at 26° and someone has a Capricorn moon at 1°, TECHNICALLY your moons are conjunct by 5 degrees. But they are not in the same sign. Your personalities are different. That connection works in a different way.

But if you have a Sagittarius moon at 12° and someone has a Sagittarius moon at 25°, they are too far apart to be conjunct, but they are still in the same sign. So you have the same emotional landscape.

When two people share a moon sign that immediately describes a sense of comfort, understanding and safety. It also sparks up a gigantic amount of excitement. Because they recognize each other, they understand each other's emotional impulses, and they don't have to explain what they feel a lot, because the other person probably already feels the exact same way, so they just "get it". They can translate what the other feels easily.

It can make the people want to be around one another all the time, because with this person it feels safe, there's no suckerpunch, no surprise, no judgement, no rejection, no ambush. Plus, they validate each other A LOT.

Physically, they will want to hang out as much as possible. Emotionally, they will just rely on each other constantly for mutual support, which can make them – again – tune out everybody else and just focus on each other.

This literally gives "they finish each other's sentences" energy. Bonus points if it's a Leo moon.

* Mars conjunct moon *

Now, again, this aspect alone will not create this. If people have Mars conjunct moon, but the rest of the synastry is a disaster, they will most definitely not go the right way with this. I am talking about a COMBINATION of HEALTHY aspects TOGETHER.

There isn't much to say about this one. It combines physical needs with emotional needs. It IS a tricky aspect, because it gives rise to violent anger, on the account that it's the planet of aggression touching the planet of emotions. So they will value the impact of the other person a lot, which means that when that person upsets them, they feel it even more dramatically than with others. But when it works well, it really works nicely.

The first and most apparent effect of this would be a need to be physically close to the other a lot. So they will often sit next to each other, talk looking at each other, walk very close to each other, touch each other a lot, even if it's light touches, and depending on their level of intimacy, do physical forms of affection, like kisses on cheeks, head, shoulders, hugs, gentle caress etc.

Emotionally, they will search for drive in each other. It's like the other person is their personal motivator. If they are in a group setting, for example, they might look at the other person for validation that what the're saying is right, or they might feel safe to share their ideals and aspirations because the other person is there to support them. It can even make a shy person start to speak up their thoughts because the other boosts their confidence and will defend them if needed.

* Mercury in the same element *

Both having a water Mercury (Cancer, Scorpio or Pisces), a fire Mercury (Aries, Leo or Sagittarius), earth Mercury (Taurus, Virgo or Capricorn) or air Mercury (Gemini, Libra or Aquarius). Mercury is the planet of communication and the mind.

When two people have compatible Mercuries, even if they are not in the same sign, but they are in the same element, that talks of an easy flow of communication between them. That means the core of how they formulate their thoughts is the same:

Water - driven by emotional intelligence.

Fire - driven by sensorial intelligence (how it feels like in their body. Does it feel exciting or annoying?).

Earth - driven by practical analysis.

Air - driven by rational, factual mental processes.

They can understand each other fairly easy, as well as explain themselves to the other. That can mean conversations can become very centered on them and others sort of fade away into the background, SPECIALLY if the other people aren't getting what they mean. Mercury is impatient, so if they are with others and the others don't get what they're saying, they could be just like "ugh! Whatever. This person gets it, so I'll just talk to them and ignore the others. If they get it, that's enough for me."

* 5th house overlays with major planets *

Major planets are: Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus and Mars. The 5H is the house of joy and excitement, the house of play, fun, romance and pleasure.

If someone's major placements touch your 5H or vice versa, it can describe a relationship in which everything with that person feels like a reward and the best times of one's life. Everything feels exciting and pleasurable.

So who wouldn't want to be around someone who's fun and makes you happy all the time? They never get bored of each other.

This one also gives "tag team" energy. They are mischievous together, and might cause trouble with the help of one another. In a good, light-hearted way. Like joining forces to prank their friends. They also go on all types of adventures together.

* Mercury in the 3rd house overlay *

The house of communication with the planet of communication. Need I say more? The Mercury needs to be in good condition, though, otherwise, it will be manipulation instead of cooperation. And, once more, other positive aspects need to also be present.

Just mental connection to a level that is almost psychic. They read each other's minds.

Internally, that can make they feel intuitively connected and understood.

Externally, they can be the pair that always knows what the other is thinking, what they're gonna say, and become the official spokesperson for the other.

They also do NOT get tired of talking to each other. Ever. They can talk forever, and they never seem to run out of conversations to have. They might even talk in a similar way, or adopt each other's mannerisms and speech patterns. They also learn words, phrases and expressions from one another. And they change the other's perspective easily.

* Pluto in the 7th house overlay *

This one can be more on the toxic side, I warn.

It creates obsession and possessiveness, as well as codependency. So it could give rise to that "shadow" effect. Always with each other, always in each other's radar, refusing to break apart. It also creates an addictive feeling.

It can also make them be secretive together, which can give even more the energy that they are each other's shadow.

•••• •••• •••• •••• •••• •••• •••• •••• ••••

That's it!

There's a few more, but I feel like for now that's been enough to read.

I hope the information is helpful to you. Let me know if you have any questions or feedback!

Thank you for the question and have a happy holiday season! ❤️🎄

[thequiver]

I love your fic ‘It’s being Forgotten by someone you’d never forget’! Do you have any further thoughts on the relationship between Billy and Tommy or between Pietro and Wanda? I would love to hear them

Aweee thank you so much! That’s one of my favorites 🥰🥰🥰 I’m so glad you like it!

I do! I always have thoughts!

So I’m also going to touch a little bit on the relationship between Billy and Wanda, Tommy and Pietro, Billy and Pietro, and Tommy and Wanda because I think those are ALSO important dynamics to consider.

So we know from the canon, that Pietro isn’t particularly close to the twins (and never was tbh given the whole him and Wanda fighting thing and Wanda trying to convince him that he had to immediately forgive his cheating wife bit). I think he’s a bit unnerved still that the babies he met, who are supposed to be younger than his daughter are now somehow older and that the lack of familial connection (that drives the desire for familial connection in Tommy’s case) puts him in an awkward spot.

We know that Pietro is someone motivated by love and that he’s very very VERY family oriented, it’s one of my favorite things about him. But we also know that Pietro doesn’t really interact with Billy, and while the meta reason for that is probably editorial going “fast twin with fast twin, magic twin with magic twin”- I think there’s a very real possibility that Pietro might be trying not to insert himself into the Kaplan family. Billy HAS a loving family that accepts him as he is, and I don’t think that Pietro wants to ruin that even if he would like to be closer to his nephew. I also think that Billy and Pietro are MUCH more alike than they're often given credit or implied to be and I'd really like to see that explored more.

But in regard to Tommy, as we’ve just seen in SW&QS, Pietro “checks in” on Tommy. Now what we see is that they aren’t very close- but Pietro and Tommy are both people who have been deeply wounded by the idea family and so despite the proclaimed lack of closeness you can still plainly see the love and trust displayed between them- and it’s evidenced by the casualness of their referenced visits with Tommy mentioning that Pietro comes by to steal his snacks and Pietro speaking to Tommy about David. I think fundamentally their dynamic shows that Pietro is worried about Tommy (which….same).

The Wanda and Billy dynamic, that we have more of in canon. We know that Billy wants Wanda’s approval, that they do think of each other along mother-son lines despite the existence of the incredible Mrs. Kaplan (who I would love to see more of, stop erasing the Kaplan family please). And we see fairly consistently that Wanda prioritizes her relationship with Billy over her relationship with Tommy. And I know that some people will point out that she has more appearances with just Billy and that’s true and I’m not talking about those, I’m rather focusing on those appearances where Wanda is present with both twins.

I don’t think that Wanda is prioritizing Billy over Tommy on purpose, she’s not THAT much like her father (even if her similarities to Erik are a contributing factor to this dynamic with her children) . But I do think that part of why she does prioritize Billy over Tommy is not just that it was easier, Billy openly states that she’s his favorite Avenger, they’re both magic users, etc. but also because she’s not immune to the assumptions made about the twins because of who they look like. Wanda and Pietro for all their closeness and codependency, DO have more than their fair share of issues, and while they’re still close their closeness has decreased over the years due to things like Pietro’s refusal to talk to her because of Vision, Wanda choosing Crystal in the cheating reveal, Wanda’s general greater willingness to tolerate their father, etc. Now I don’t think that Wanda is consciously aware that she’s keeping her distance from Tommy, nor do I think that she’s aware that any distance she’s keeping might have to do with her lingering Pietro issues or negative assumptions that she may have internalized from others (there IS a more popular twin and we all know it), but I DO think it’s a contributing factor.

Tommy, Tommy DESPERATELY wants Wanda’s love. ToM may have been a HOT MESS, but that panel of Tommy staring at Wanda with tears in his eyes, going “Mommy?” Lives RENT FREE IN MY HEAD. I think that Tommy on some level is aware that he and Wanda are probably ever going to have what Wanda and Billy have, but I think he’s ALSO aware that he needs that more than Billy does. We know next to nothing about the Shepherds, but what we do know of Tommy’s past doesn’t paint a very positive picture. Tommy, I think, is very aware of the disparity between him and Billy. Tommy, more so than Billy, is, in my opinion, aware of the privilege that Billy has. Privilege that exists not just in terms of the wealth that the Kaplans have, but in the love that exists there. And Tommy WANTS to be loved SO BADLY.

Tommy wants to be loved SO BADLY, that he lived with Master Pandemonium because the old man was kind to him. And much like Pietro, Tommy is ALSO fueled by love and a desire for family, it’s just that Tommy isn’t quite as jaded as his uncle (yet). Wanda is also a character who wants to be loved, she wants to experience kindness and tries to sow kindness where she can- but she’s just not close enough to Tommy to see through the superficial parallels and realize that HE’S much more similar to her personality wise than most would assume.

Billy, and I love Billy please don’t get me wrong, Billy…..isn’t always the most observant about things that aren’t about Billy. I say this with love, he can be a bit single minded at times. And he’s been more resistant to he and Tommy being family than Tommy has, and I think that plays a huge role in their dynamic. Where Tommy, is ride or die for who he considers to be his twin, this brother he always wants to be there for, and who he wants to assume will always be there for him. And where Billy, is…..not as focused on that relationship, and because he prioritizes Billy (not a bad thing, just a factor of their relationship), Tommy is sort of pushed aside and left to fend for himself.

With Wanda and Pietro things are more even for sure, from their intro they’ve been established as twins and were raised together, no weird Mephisto shit here- which gives them a much more unified idea of what their relationship is. I do think that part of their dynamic includes the idea that Wanda can and does feel more free to forgive and to be trusting because she knows that if something happens, Pietro is going to fuck shit up. And we know that Wanda will also fuck shit up for Pietro, although we’ve seen this less as the years go on.

One of the biggest issues I see with the dynamic between Pietro and Wanda- is that both twins want/need the other to care for them more like how they care for others. Wanda reacts better to quiet care while Pietro basically needs you to smack him in the face with it. But what we get is Wanda giving Pietro quiet care that can feel to him like neglect or forgetfulness, and Pietro basically smothering Wanda in his care and love because that’s how he loves all consumingly.

But Wanda is also kind of…..possessive almost of Pietro’s care and attention? When she needs it and when she admits that she needs/wants it she isn’t always too keen on sharing that attention. I think a LOT about how the House of M didn’t have Luna in it…..

And Wanda knows of course, that she can be as mean as she wants to Pietro and he’ll still be there - and there’s on some level a bit of taking him for granted that comes with that. She’s much better at establishing boundaries with him than he is with her and it’s something that we do see come to bite Pietro in the ass, even if he doesn’t regret it. Wanda can’t express her temper to anyone but Pietro, and Pietro’s temper is a cautionary tale that shows her WHY she can’t because it results in his competitive isolation and friendless state.

Pietro believes that his role is to be his sisters’ keeper and that they are more valuable than him. And I think one of the really cool things about Tommy, is that while he cares about Billy, he doesn’t believe that.

But uh yeah….. Hope you enjoyed the word salad

[neverpathia]

Okay. I was gonna draw something with this and I STILL PLAN TO but here's a little headcanon I'm thinking of with Broken, Smitten and Opportunist.

no major drawing so just have this scribble for now.

they are besties.

Very, very, regrettably besties. Dumpster fire under the cut.

So the three of them kinda just keep to each other a lot. They're kind of in their own little circle most of the time, while the other voices all kind of do their own thing.

Opportunist is mooching off Smitten's power, but it's fine, because Smitten is perfectly okay with it. And it's not like Oppy has any nefarious intent, right? Meanwhile, Smitten pretty much adopted Broken and they became quite close pretty quick, what with having unhealthy attachments towards the princess and all. And then boy, does Oppy get along with Broken an amazing extent!

Haha. Nope. It's kind of horrible.

Opportunist keeps lying and scheming behind Smitten's back in order to get this powerful, delusional ally to do his bidding. Honeyed words specifically tailored for his ears. I've already went over that in a separate post, but still, yeah.

Oppy isn't the most competent manipulator around, but Smitten isn't exactly a difficult target either. So, of course, he reinforces Smitten's codependence on the Princess because that's the easiest thing for anyone to twist around. And then Smitten is just oblivious about it.

And Opportunist is doing something similar about Broken but it's a lot closer to straight-up bullying. Broken, being the extreme doormat that he is, just gives up and acts as he's told. Oppy, given the chance, keeps exploiting his horrible self-worth and constant shame.

Smitten's pretty much the only thing stopping Oppy from going too far at this point, because Oppy doesn't want to risk having Broken snap at Smitten before all his carefully crafted master-plans get ruined.

As for Broken and Smitten? Well, Smitten's a little entitled and kind of deranged when it comes to his beliefs about the Princess. And Broken thinks he agrees with him. After all, believing in Her has always been the safer option. Best not to risk the alternatives.

But this also means that neither of them are getting over their codependent behaviours anytime soon, and they're most certainly not going to stop engaging in...mutually destructive shenanigans. Smitten gets lowkey on the verge of losing it when you reject his delusions. That scares Broken, who still tries to seek refuge in those very delusions.

But at the same time that doesn't mean they don't care about each other. Opportunist would never admit it, but he genuinely does care about Broken like a little brother to some extent. It's just, not enough to stop him. And as for whatever nonsense he has going on with Smitten...he loves him. He loves him not. Who knows.

They're all such good friends. They gossip a lot. They drink together at times. They give each other bad relationship advice. They hang out. They give each other bad advice in general. They follow each others' bad advice. The usual.

TLDR: We got The Mean Girls going on up in here.

right lemme just @everestgale because you wanted to hear everyone's headcanons and i wonder if you'll come to regret that decision.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Mafia Trilogy !Yandere¡

Ranked On Insanity

A/N: This is purely my opinion on them. We all interpret their characters differently so don’t come at me if you don’t like their placements. I’m trying to be kind of accurate to their characters but also do fan service…I’m stressed so plz 😪

Requests open: 24/7

Warnings: Yandere and toxic themes.

Masterlist

I’m ranking them in three different categories…

Delulu to not as delulu

Batshit and completely delusional

These are the men who are at the point of no return….They are willing to do anything to get you at any cost. I do not say this lightly like I mean they are willing to do anything

My boy John has the entire c.i.a. at his very disposal and you think he won’t use it to find you??? He’s going to get you. Sam will too,, He’ll send out multiple men to come hunt you down if you even dare to hide from him. They do not give a flying duck if you don’t even have romantic interest in them, you are their darling. That’s the end of discussion.

Whatever they want you to do, you’re going to do it. There’s no rationalization with these two. Lincoln and Tom give them all the talks they want but they will not listen. Pushed to the brink enough and their friends are not safe either from their delusional thinking.

You already saw what Sam did to Paulie…imagine what he’d do for his darling. Not the ideal men for normal girls. You will be tormented every single step of your relationship with either one of these men.

No effort is made to hide their sinister behaviors and your eyes will bear witness to their horrific atrocities. If you push them too far they might even harm you eventually. There is no escaping or telling what their insanity will make them do.)

Sam Trapani

John Donovan

Pretty fucking crazy but is in a weird gray area between the other two

They are in the middle. Paulie is already an irrational brute and Vito is a traumatized Soldier, so they are definitely operating weirdly.

They both have similar desires of wanting a partner but have been dealt an unlucky hand when it comes to dating so when you came along…they couldn’t let you go. Their obsession comes from a place of codependency..they need you sooo badly and they cannot go back to their old cold life without you.

They really do care about their darling, truly. They’ll do whatever they can to organically win over your love and trust. Sure they will be super touchy, maybe a little too bossy or over protective of you but they mean well… they truly want to be the “chill bf” but who are they kidding??? They are cray cray in the membrane.

At any moment they can and will snap…their delusions will get the best of them if pushed to that point. If they feel like you’re going to leave or are constantly rejecting them, they will do a full 180 and turn into the previous bunch. They are extremely accusatory and feel like you’re constantly trying to cheat or leave them. Tons of arguments and unsavory punishments.

I can’t say they’d do exactly all the same things as the previous much like they’d never physically hurt you or make you watch their crimes but they are damn near close to being like them…

Paulie Lombardo

Vito Scaletta

Average Mafia Member

These men are still very much Yandere and are willing to kill and fuck shit up for you but aren’t as delusional as the rest. Like on average people terms they are very yandere but in comparison to other members of the mob…eh.

I know this is going to piss hella people off but I can’t imagine any of these three holding you against your will or being overly passionate about their darling.

Your safety comes first and they are more go with the flow kind of men. Especially Lincoln and Tommy, despite their desires, your wishes come first. Joe is just Joe, he cares a lot about you but on average he’s like fuck it…it’s your life girl-. Forced intimacy and everything isn’t their thing.

If you really weren’t romantically feeling them they’d just become platonic yanderes and make sure you’re safe from a distance. If any moment you changed your mind they’d be right there waiting to give you the world but if not they really won’t do too much about it. These men would have to have been romantically invested in you for years for them to snap and become like the rest .)

Tommy Angelo

Lincoln Clay

Joe Barbaro