#despite living somewhere with english as the main language

[davosmymaster]

No Time To Die

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, no explicit smut but sexual themes, whump, a lot of angst, blood, graphic wounds and procedures (?) probably not medically accurate, could be almost gore if you squint, hurt/comfort, two dorks in love, canon-typical violence, near-death experiences. Not based on the game, I don’t know anything about the game and I don’t want spoilers please.

PAIRINGS - Joel Miller x fem!reader

WORD COUNT -  9.6k.

SUMMARY - The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

A/N - I honestly don’t know what this is. I tried to look for angsty and whumpy fics and couldn’t find any that hit the spot just right; so I wrote my own. This story is set in some time between 2010 and 2020, or so. Bill and Frank are still very much alive. The only warning apart the amount of blood in this, it’s my own knowledge of the English language.

'Breathe'

 With a shiver, you try to comply with your own command. The action itself confuses you, and you don't know where exactly in your mind that thought came from; or why. All you know is that a moment ago you were nothing, absolutely nothing, not even human. You forgot your own existence in a still ocean made of black thick ink. The ink is now backtracking, though, but the remnants of it stay in your foggy mind, clouding it as your consciousness comes back in waves.

 Waking up from a dream is easy, you just come back into yourself from a nice trip to your own imagination. Regaining consciousness, however, is a little more difficult. Instead of going somewhere, you go inwards into yourself. Your overworked mind, already tired and busy with keeping you alive, doesn't care much about bringing you to any other place so you can die peacefully. No. And the awakening is not as it should be either.

Coming back into yourself is your body crawling its way to the land of the living, with your flesh drenched in tears, blood and sweat; and nails digging firmly into the dirt. At least that's how it feels as you go back and forth between the two worlds, rocked violently by the waves threatening to drown you in its heavy never-ending dream.

 You wake up tired, and cold. The first sense that returns is touch; and with it, a pulsing pain radiates from under the right side of your collarbone and all the way down to your chest and back. The —obvious— wound is warmer than the rest of your body. It's like you've grown a second heart right at the borders of the wound; it throbs relentlessly. The second is taste. Your mouth tastes like salt and melted butter; despite not having eaten either in at least three days. Around the dryness of your tongue you feel a sticky liquid swirling around in your mouth, plastered to your gums.

 Whatever it is, you cough it out of your mouth. The old blackened blood splatters on the wooden planks below your mouth. Then, a second later, you feel a sprawled hand on your back; and the rest of your consciousness returns with it.

 He calls your name. And he, whose presence you'd have recognized even blindfolded, even miles away from there, doesn't appear in your mind for a few seconds. But even half-conscious and at death's gates, his name leaves your mouth with a sigh of relief.

 Joel.

 "I'm here," he says, his palm now pressing a bit harder into your back, trying to comfort you somehow. If you had been fully aware, you'd have been embarrassed at the relieved groan that had escaped your lips while saying his name. "How are you feeling?"

 His voice sounds less muffled now, but the pulsing pain intensifies the closer you are to the surface. A second groan escapes your mouth as the warmth under your collarbone becomes impossible to ignore.

 "I know, I know" he says.

 Your eyes flutter open. From your point of view there's not much to see except torn wallpaper, your blood stains, and the shadow of a window. You're on the floor, your cheek pressed against the dusty carpet, your body very still laying on them, and Joel rubbing your back.

 The room is dark. His fingers enter your field of vision, they dip on the wet blood stains and turn around so Joel can see the sticky fluid staining his fingers. He takes a breath, a gasp, really.

 "Goddamnit," he mutters under his breath. His hand stops rubbing your back, and as black stains crawl from the corners of your vision, trying to take you under the waves again, he talks to you:

 "I need to turn you around..." he says with a gentle voice. It's like the icing on top of a sour and burnt cake; he's trying to sound caring, but that doesn't change the fact that it's going to hurt like a bitch. "You hear me?" he says, and his voice breaks for a second. Your ears ring, the next thing he says your brain doesn't process it, your vision has been clouded by darkness again...

 A scream tores your throat as a shooting pain lights your body on fire. It feels like lightning going through your backbone. Suddenly, the waves are very far away and you're feeling way too conscious for your liking. Despite your pain, Joel is still as careful as he can as he lays you on the floor, now facing the ceiling instead.

 The throbbing pain continues, and you blink to get rid of the tears that distort Joel's face. His hand wipes the tears from your face.

 "I know," he says. He has a crease between his seemingly angry eyebrows that you had never seen before.

 Both hands are roaming your ribs now, before you can even say anything. His warm hands give you shivers as he touches your naked skin. The pain is so unbearable that all you can do to mitigate it is hold your breath. If you could move, you'd be right now curled on the floor like a pretzel. You are not crying anymore, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't close.

 "Can you breathe?" he asks then, when he doesn't find any cracks in your ribs by touch alone. You don't respond because you can't find your own voice, and he sounds desperate at this point. "You coughed blood, I need to know if any of your lungs are collapsing."

 "It-it hurts..." you wheeze, your eyes tightly shut. For a split second, you wish you were back to being nothing. Being nothing sounds way better than having a gunshot wound in your chest. The bandages, tight over your bones and shoulder, don't mitigate the pain either. If anything, they worsen it. It feels like a tight sock over a painful pustule on your heel.

 Worst part is you know all this pain is for nothing; you know you won't make it. If you go back to the QZ, you will be executed. If not, there's nobody to help you except Joel. But even if there were doctors or hospitals, you highly doubted you could find the necessary tools to extract a bullet and stitch the wound. That is, if you manage not to die of blood loss.

 "Where?" Joel asks. Even beyond all this concern and well-hidden panic, he seems to cling to an ounce of hope. "Tell me where it hurts."

 Your fingers gently trace your skin until they reach the area under your collarbone, and you sign to your back too. There's a bandage there, but nothing else, and that's when you notice you don't have a shirt on, just your blood-soaked bra.

 "Is it bad?"

 "Not that bad. The bullet went through," he said. That explains the pain on both sides of your body; you have a literal hole in your chest. "And it clotted soon enough to stop the bleeding, but you lost too much blood anyway... Anywhere else?"

 Your whole body hurts and this abandoned house suddenly feels like penance, but you don't want to scare him further, so you shake your head no very slowly.

 "Alright," he mumbles. Joel nods once, and it looks like he is reassuring himself. His eyes betray him, he looks like he is very far away from here, very buried under all the scenes playing on his mind; but despite his stillness, his lower lip quivers.

 You can't move your right arm at all, but with the other hand, your fingers lightly touch his knuckles still resting on your stomach. He winces, and your fingers are wet with his blood too. He must have beaten to death whoever shot you, that you are certain about.

 Your voice, little more than a weak breath, whispers:

 "I-I want you to do it."

 The crease between his eyebrows deepens. He seems confused rather than angry; the reaction you were hoping for. You take a breath to repeat your own words, but he squeezes your hand.

 "Don't," he says.

 "Joel..."

 "Don't even think about it," he snarls. "You are perfectly fine, don't be dramatic."

 You don't know what hurts more; his pain or yours, but his denial makes your eyes wet with tears again. This is already hard, but he is making it even harder. All he will achieve by trying to keep you alive is either prolonging his pain or getting himself killed. You both know this is no world for the injured and the sick, not out of the QZ, at least. And in most cases, not inside either.

 All you ask of him is to not leave you for the infected to find. Is that too much to ask?

 You want to insist, but you know he won't have it. Joel has lost so much already that the thought of losing what little left he has is not even going to cross his mind. Not until it's too late, at least. Also, you don't want your last moments with him to be a fight. You are tired of fighting, of swimming against the current. You just want to let go for once, give in to the external forces, close your eyes and peacefully breathe.

 What's more, you should have already known that he wouldn't do you that favor. He is too selfish for that.

 He pats your cheeks gently with his large hands, and your eyes, already rolling back into your skull, get focused on him again with a few blinks. You breathe slowly, trying to focus on him, on the world around you slowly twisting and turning.

 "...that's it," he says, it doesn't sound like his first sentence, so you guess he's been talking to you before. When you look back at him, his breathing is shallow, and you know he is trying to take a hold of himself too, trying not to give in to panic. "Good girl, that's it. Keep your eyes on me."

 Exhausted and hurting as you are, keeping your eyes open it's like asking you not to drop a weight that you cannot, in fact, handle; but you try nonetheless. It's your fault, really, for letting yourself go, for trying to give up on your fight earlier than you should. Joel is here trying to keep you alive, mending all your broken ends and stitching them together —he has always been good at that— while you're just trying to give up on him —you are really good at that too—.

 Giving up on Joel has been one of the hardest things you've ever had to do; and now you're letting him go for the last time. Part of you is glad you don't have to keep watching how he chooses Theresa over and over again. You are even relieved that fate —or whatever there is out there— is forcing you out of the equation. After all, you would never have given up fully on him.

 He refuses to kill you, what he doesn't know is that you've been dead for a long while now. Him being your executioner would be the kindest act he could have with you, the most intimate thing you'd ever share; your last moments. You want it to be him, you want him to free you from this torment.

 He refuses, though; and it feels like a punch to the pit of your stomach. You shiver.

 He gets up from his place on the floor, where you are lying just over the carpet. You follow him with your eyes and see a fire cracking up in a fucked-up chimney. He stokes the fire, throws some more wood on it and then comes back to you, covering you with his jacket, the very same jacket you had on before he turned you around. It's warm, his, and you have to stop yourself from sinking your nose into the collar.

 "I had to take off your shirt to patch you up," he says, but he doesn't say sorry. Ever. So you guess it's his way of apologizing.

 You simply nod, aware that you had wished for this very moment to happen many times before. You had dreamt of his rough hands over your naked flesh, caressing the sides of your body. You had dreamt of him watching you with those chocolate eyes as you took your shirt off, deep black pupils spreading over the brown as he watched the lace fall like a helpless witness.

 But now the bra was covered in blood and he was watching you anywhere but the lace. He had a frightened and concerned look on his face, rather than aroused. A look that would have made you feel guilty and ashamed if it had happened in the other scenario. And instead of undressing you, he was covering your body with his jacket as if you were his child.

 "What's wrong?" he is asking now, instead of whispering 'I want you' and it hurts all the same to know he's not ever going to say it, and that Tess now will have all those words for however long their lives are.

 You guess they were made for each other. And it makes all the sense, really, no one like Joel would ever look at you twice. You were grateful that he even allowed you to be his friend.

 "Nothing," you respond.

 It's always 'nothing' when it comes to Joel. It's always that nothing whenever he notices you are under the weather. It's always nothing when you are hurt, when someone tries to rob you and they leave an angry black eye on your face. It's always nothing; and he never believes you.

 "I don't make promises, you know that," he says, taking your left hand in his. "but you will be fine, I swear."

 You don't know what to say, how to explain that you are not scared of death, that you are just scared of not seeing him again. But you can't, so you say nothing and just nod.

 Does he want to hurt himself? Okay. You can't do much while lying on the floor anyway.

 After that, both of you stay silent. Joel seems to be avoiding looking at you. His eyes are stuck in the fire creaking in the chimney, but they are too restless to be present and conscious of the yellow and orange haze.

 Your palm lands on his thigh, your fingers gently brushing the denim. You want to comfort him somehow, but, at the same time, you are scared he will reject your touch and reassurance. That's all you can do for him: no words, no further touching, just a featherlight touch that indicates you are still present. There, with him.

 "I thought we couldn't make a fire."

 "Don't be dumb. The windows are all broken, it's winter and you are in shock. How else would you heat up?"

 "Got it. You're not in a talking mood," you huff. "Alright."

 Silence settles between both of you. However, one of his big, rough hands travels to where your fingertips are gently brushing his thigh. At the touch, even if you don't want to let go, your fingers begin to back off. He's not in a good mood, and you seem to be pushing his boundaries a little too much. Except that, instead of letting you go, he catches your hand in his and puts it back over his jean. This time, it's him who brushes his thumb over your knuckles.

 For a minute, the only sound in the living room are both your breathing patterns, the flames licking the air and the wind rushing through the broken windows.

 "I'm sorry..." you start. And immediately, his brown eyes are all over you again. Your voice sounds exhausted, more than you'd have liked. "...I fucked up the mission. I know-"

 "You haven't fucked up anything," he interrupts. That's Joel, all stoic, swallowing his feelings and denying everything that it is not up to his standards. "Would you mind to just rest-"

 Your eyes well with tears.

 "Joel, for once... Just for once, don't lecture me, don't ignore what I'm trying to say just because you don't want to hear it," you tell him. Then, he thankfully presses his lips together in a pained grimace, but stays silent nonetheless. "I fucked up the mission getting injured. I know it isn't my fault, but it doesn't matter whose fault it is. If you wanna go on without me, I won't blame you."

 His fingers are now squeezing yours, but you know he is not even conscious of that. He leans in a little, his cheeks now reddened in anger. He looks like he is about to spit on your face.

 "I'm not leaving you anywhere," he says. He looks offended that you even thought he was capable of that. "You and I are gonna get to Lincoln, either if you like it or not. There, Bill and Frank will help you. We have traded all kinds of things with them, and I know they are very well supplied."

 "Why would they help me?"

 "They are not just people we trade with," he says. His fingertips brush a strand of hair out of your face. "I know they will."

 "What if they changed their minds?"

 His pupils lock into your own, his jawline swells as he grits his teeth.

 "I'm persistent."

 The mission was supposed to be an easy one. Walk out of the QZ undetected, walk fifteen miles to the town of Lincoln, just outside Boston, get our things and come back. Our cargo were the two last spools of aluminum that Joel had promised to trade with them and two packets of seeds. Theirs? Two pounds of rolling tobacco and a gun. Tess couldn't make it, she had appointments with other smugglers, probably the ones who snuck the drugs in; which was more than half of their business. If it wasn't that important, she wouldn't have stayed in the QZ for anything in the world. But Bill and Frank were also important, and Joel couldn't go alone.

 The two of you should be home by now, and you wondered if Tess was regretting her decision of asking you to go with him. Last night you had both snuck out of the Boston QZ; and it usually didn't take more than six hours to get to Lincoln. But just outside the city you had bumped into raiders; and a stray bullet had hit you. Now you were stranded in a small cabin lost in the woods, about seven miles away from Lincoln; and unable to walk a single step.

 And to top it all off, Joel was enraged and neurotic.

 Still with the same expression, he takes your wrist and squeezes two fingers into it. Even if you had preferred him not to, knowing that your heartbeat got wild whenever he was around. You let him check on you, hoping that if your symptoms got better he would let you have a quick nap. Your nervousness, however, doesn't improve despite your efforts of trying to calm yourself down.

 "Since when are you a doctor?"

 He lets your wrist go, then gets back on his feet and gets his rifle.

 "You should rest. You'lll need it," he says, now heading to the entrance. He's gonna be standing on guard all night, you are sure of that. "We're leaving tomorrow morning."

 That is when you lose it. You can't believe he is that blind, that caught up in his own world.

 "I know in your perfect fantasy this is just a scratch, but I truly can't move, Joel. Even laying here awake is hard. How am I supposed to follow...? Joel!"

 But he's out of the house before you even finish the sentence.

  [***]

  Joel doesn't keep his word.

 A few hours later, not even near dawn yet, you get pulled back from a dream. Your eyes take a few minutes to register your surroundings; again. And the memories gallop back to your mind in a rush; accompanied by the burning and piercing pain on the upper right side of your chest. Your eyes shut tight, and you inhale a shallow breath. Even breathing hurts.

 "We need to go," Joel whispers. His voice sounds muffled, especially over the sound of your beating heart. "C'mon, wake up."

 He is once again rocking you rather than shaking you awake. Just to be able to fall asleep you had rolled back into your chest, cheek once again firmly pressed against that twenty-year-old dusty carpet. When he came back from checking the perimeter, not even five minutes after your argument, he placed his backpack right under your stomach so your right side was elevated. You wouldn't have been able to fall asleep if it wasn't for that. The pain was maddening, atrociously painful. Joel had found you gritting your teeth even in your sleep.

 He had said you'd leave the next day, but you felt like not even minutes had passed.

 "Morning," you complained, half a grunt accompanying your words. Joel shook you gently again when he saw you relax a second time, and your voice came back. "Y-you said...mor-"

 "I know what I said but we can't wait any longer," he answered. "I'm gonna sit you up."

 Fear pumped enough adrenaline into your system to wake you up. The ache from before rushed back into your mind, and your 'please' and 'wait' left your mouth like a prayer.

 "I can do it," you said, but it sounded more like begging than an affirmation.

 "I know you can," he lied. As your eyes opened and you saw his expression —eyes focused on you, trembling hands, half of his face hidden in the shadows, the other half gently licked by the orange-like haze of the dying fire— you understood that you had to be in a really bad condition for him to look at you that way, and feel the need to lie to make you feel better. But then, a second right after that, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes fluttered between your face and the surface of his jacket over your shoulders. His stoic mask was back on. "I'm just gonna help you, okay? But you do it."

 He did not, in fact, let you do it.

 You had managed to lift yourself barely an inch over the carpet, using all the strength left in your healthy arm, when both his hands curled around your side and pulled you up to his chest. Clenching your jaw, you allowed him to drag you a few feet back and into a seating position against the wall; your whole weight over the left side of your body.

 "Don't lean on the other side, your shoulder blade is broken."

 "Oh..." you almost chuckled. "Great."

 For a second, Joel looks at you as if you were completely insane. He reaches for his backpack, crouching on the place where you were lying just seconds prior. Then takes his flask and doubts when passing it on.

 "I'm not that desperate for water," you respond, reaching for the flask and drinking a gulp of the liquid. You swallow despite the soreness in your throat. "Next thing you'll do is spit food into my mouth."

 "Not even getting shot shuts your fucking mouth, does it?" he says, grossed out at your comment. However, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Relaxing him has a calming effect on you too.

 You try to pass him the flask again, but he refuses.

 "No," he says. "Drink it all. You'll need it."

 You look at him with narrowed eyes, confused. It's hard to keep a single thought in your head other than the throbbing pain in your chest and back, but you still try. Rather than asking him how you are supposed to walk seven miles, with the aluminum and his pack, you try to approach the matter another way.

 "What's the plan?"

 He takes a deep breath.

 "You're not gonna like it," he says, his deep voice almost slurring the words. It's barely a whisper. He looks into your eyes, then. "I'm gonna carry you."

 "What?"

 "You heard me."

 There's not an ounce of doubt in his eyes. Joel has that look of determination, the one you only really see when he has his eyes set on something really fucking important for him; most times that includes his own brother or not talking about the times before the outbreak. And with that look on his face, you know there's nothing you could possibly say or do to make him reconsider his own words. He's stubborn like that.

 You still try.

 "It's seven miles, Joel..." you tell him on a thready voice, a whisper. And Joel sighs through his nose —as if he had forgotten. "And we have to carry..."

 "We leave everything here," he says. "Come back for it later."

 "They won't let us in empty-handed."

 "You don't know them."

 For Joel to be so certain about it, certain enough as to put both your life and his on the hands of strangers; you understand that their relationship goes beyond trading. Joel had told you about them, about their situation and the first time Tess and him had shared dinner with Bill and Frank. Still, you were suspicious of them, and you thought that he was too; up until now, at least.

 "It's still seven miles," you tell him, and you know him, you know he's about to stop talking to you and leave the room if you don't, at least, partly give in to his reasoning. "...are you sure you wanna do it?"

 His pleading brown eyes engulf you, then, with an emotion he had never showed before. His gaze diverts for a second to your wound, to the bandages that, as you look at them, you find they are once again covered in blood. They are soaked in it, the skin surrounding it has a large black bruise —internal bleeding, you guess. And when you try to take a full deep breath, you find yourself unable to, at least not at full capacity.

 The understanding hits you, then. You don't have much time left.

 "I don't have any other choice," Joel says, but what he means is 'I don't want to lose you'.

 "Okay."

 Not even a full second has passed from your reluctant acceptance, but he is already on his feet. Joel walks to the only table in the room, takes your gun and puts it in his hip, right inside the jean. The only other thing he takes apart from ammo is another set of bandages —and he silently thanks whatever it is out there that he put those there a month ago—. He doesn't have anything to clean the wound, though; and one of his biggest fears is that it might already be infected. Even bandaged it looks bad.

 He approaches you, crouches down so he is facing the wound.

 "I'm going to tighten the bandage, and I have to keep the pressure," he says, loosening the knot. His fingers are once again stained with you blood, and he has to fight the images of him pressing on your wound from a few hours ago, when he had found you and, with trembling hands, had tried to stop the bleeding coming out in waves. He looks at you, trying to forget the awful picture of your eyes closed, your body limp on the ground. "Bite something."

 You reach for the sleeve of his jacket, the one hanging from your shoulders; and put the padded cuff of his jacket into your mouth.

 Joel doesn't give you a warning; and you're not sure if that's a good or bad thing, either. He presses the heel of his hand right over the covered hole in your chest, with such strength that you wonder if he will end up breaking your clavicle in half. As he presses your body against the wall, you can almost feel the cracked bones in your back smashing against each other.

 Needless to say, the pain is blinding. The view of the room, the feeling of his heat around you, the scent of him under your nose... all gone in a matter of seconds. Your vision turns white, all your senses stop functioning. Over the scream that falls from your lips, muffled by the jacket, you hear him say:

 "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

 He lets go, and your vision immediately darkens, the shadows flowing from the corners of the room quick to reach you. With your last grip on reality you feel yourself melting against the wall, slowly slipping to the side. Joel catches you before you hit the floor.

 Cold water is what brings you back. Your breathing quickens at the coldness of it, and the next thing you feel are his wet hands palming your cheeks, throwing water from his flask all over your face.

 "C'mon," he mumbles. "I need you awake."

 Your eyes flutter open, your whole body relaxed now that he's not applying pressure; but alert enough that your unfocused eyes make a single shape out of him.

 While coming back into yourself, Joel does not have any time to lose. He takes his jacket over your shoulders and slips your left arm inside the sleeve, the other, where the wound is, he decides to leave it as it is; and buttons it over your chest so you're not exposed.

 "You good?"

 In any other situation you'd have said some joke, or just something to piss him off. But as of right now, nothing comes to your clouded mind; and even if something did come, you're too exhausted to even do the mental effort to say it. So you just nod.

 "Okay," he nods too, talking to himself inside his head, then takes your face in his hands and looks into your eyes. "You're fine, you hear me? I'm gonna carry you and you're gonna be on my back; so I need you talking all the damn time, alright?

 You nod again.

 "Starting now."

 "Y-yes... okay."

 "Good," he says. His hand crawls to the back of your neck, and he joins both your foreheads. He takes quick breaths. He's terrified when he whispers. "You're doing so good. I'm so proud of you."

 "Y-you... are?"

 "Mm-hmm," he says. And as his words settle into your brain, you feel your chest warm. When you open your eyes and he separates, there's a tear on his cheek, but he's quick to wipe it off. "I'm gonna open the front door."

 It's just an excuse, you both know it, but neither dares to say anything. None of you wants to talk about the elephant in the room, the fact that your chances are slim even if this works.

 Joel returns quickly, with his lashes wet and reddened eyes. It makes you speechless, to know that all this effort and tears are for you. You'd have never, in a million years, thought you'd ever see Joel Miller cry; let alone for you. He had always been so quiet, so detached from everyone, even from Tess.

 Without a word, his hands get hooked on the underside of your thighs. He lifts you up, seemingly effortlessly, and your inner thighs surround his hips. You take a deep breath, again —or at least try to— as you try not to blush and show those feelings you buried long ago. This is not the time, nor the place; so you allow your head to follow his range of motion; forwards. Soon, your nose is pressed against the lapels of his denim shirt. With your good arm, you grab one of his broad shoulders. The other falls limp, and even that little movement hurts like hell.

 He freezes, his shoulders now stiff under your hand. His beard grazes your jaw as he tries to look at you, so still in his arms.

 "You okay?"

 "Yeah..."

 Better than okay, you want to respond. Better than I've been in a long time. But you don't.

 He leaves you on the table, on the edge, with your legs dangling.  His eyes waver for a second as he leaves you there, his hands squeeze your knees in such a brief movement that you wonder if he was even conscious of that. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can't think of what, so he turns around and bends his knees a little to get you to a good height.

 "I need you to push yourself up with your good arm," he instructs. "and keep the other still, okay?"

 "Okay," you respond, fighting the urge to just nod instead.

 Not even following his instructions to a t saves you from the pain. The effort, even with your arm limp in the air, makes your body shudder and an agonizing stab runs through your whole spine. The scream that tores from the depths of your throat is so intense that Joel hesitates to put you back on the table, his back trembles for a second as his body shivers in distress. But, in the end, he has you in the air with a good hold.

 He waits, but doesn't hear anything except shallow breaths, doesn't feel anything but the weight of your head over his shoulder.

 "You with me?" he asks. He is seconds away from aborting the mission.

 "Y-yeah..."

 Your arm surrounds his neck loosely. Your fist is closed tightly, grabbing the other shoulder, and he wishes he could touch you, give you some kind of comfort, but he can't let go from his grip under your knees.

 Joel does not have the privilege of time, every second is precious, so not even giving it a try, he starts walking as if you weighted nothing. He crosses the front door and the freezing cold wind of the East Coast cuts your cheeks. If he notices —and you know that he has, wearing just his shirt in the middle of the night— he doesn't react.

 "Remember what I told you?" he asks.

 In less than a minute he has crossed the space from the cabin to the highway, where you were surprised by raiders. You look around, see the bodies of five men sprawled on the floor; lifeless, drowning in a pool of their own blood. One of them has his face mauled to nothing. The sight is so sickening —or maybe you are getting so ill— that a sudden dizziness takes hold of your shivering body.

 "Hey..."

 "I'm sorry..." you start, teeth chattering from the cold. "I'm sorry I screamed into your ear earlier."

 A sound, half a relieved sigh and half a chuckle, leaves his mouth.

 "I'm half deaf from that ear anyway."

 A light chuckle falls from your lips too. Joel keeps walking west through the highway, and you keep yourself desperately clinging to him for dear life. The moon is your only other companion; without her, you both would be completely blind in the darkness of the night.

  [***]

  Joel probably hadn't thought about the possibility of taking breaks along the way. That's why, fourty-five minutes later, and under a beautiful sunrise of orange tones, he's struggling to keep going. His knees are screaming for him to stop, his biceps and hands tired of walking with a person's weight over his shoulders. And for the first time in years he remembers the times before the outbreak, when he was capable of lifting and moving huge pieces of furniture; often times on his own, other times with just Tommy.

 He might have overestimated his own strength, assuming he was as strong as before. But it seems that not only his mental health has deteriorated after Sarah's death, no. All of him has become older and darker and more broken since then. He hardly recognizes himself in the mirror anymore.

 "Joel?"

 "Yeah..." he gasps, out of air. "Sorry, I got distracted. You were saying...?"

 It is in moments like this that he hates not to be that same person he was before. He wonders if he is, finally, paying for his past sins, for all the people, infected or not, that he has killed.

It is unfair, the fact that you're paying for his piper.

 "You should stop for a while," you tell him, your voice low like a whisper. The warm air from your mouth slithers across his skin, up his neck, over his ear, and almost sends a shiver down his spine.

 "No."

 "Joel..." you huff. Before speaking again, you take a big gulp of air. "We are not getting anywhere if you don't take breaks. You'll just wear yourself off before we reach the halfway mark."

 His mind refuses to agree, but it's as if his body takes a relieved breath when he hears the words. Little by little, his body starts to listen to you before his mind does. His thighs are screaming, sore from the pain of exertion; and before he acknowledges, even, his body has stopped moving.

 "Okay," he gasps, quick tired breaths quickly entering and leaving his lungs. "...but just a minute, we don't have time for this bullshit."

 "Okay," you say, in the same tone he used earlier with you; when he lied and said he knew you could sit up on your own. "Just a minute."

 He pulls to the side of the road, and with the last of his strength he kneels down and tries to lay you on the ground as carefully as possible. You fall on your ass on the wet ground, but at least you don't hurt yourself on the spot. He asks you for the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours if you are okay.

 "I think I'm doing better than you," you respond, but your voice is so exhausted that Joel would love to just lay next to you and lull you to sleep.

 He turns around, his whole weight sitting on the grass as he takes gulps of oxygen. His eyes shut tightly, he wipes off a tear of sweat from his temple and looks at you.

 Wide-open eyes stare back at you, but just for a split second. He gets closer, his thumb brushing the shoulder of the brown jacket, his brown jacket. His eyes pierce yours.

 "Are you sure?"

 "That bad do I look?"

 Joel doesn't look at you, not at your face getting paler by the second or the dark circles under your eyes, or your hair now dishevelled. He sees you on his memories and can barely recognize you; your skin and eyes always glowing under the sun, your hair always perfectly done. Your job was often to act as an HR for their clients, and very rarely took actual FEDRA jobs that stained your hands; you weren't like Joel, you didn't care about rations or money or whatever.

 Expert fingers gently tug at the buttons, unbuttoning them so he could take a look to the wound. He had barely a glimpse of it when your fingers stopped his hands. Joel looks at you with those puppy eyes, as if you were about to faint in the next second.

 "If you wanted to see me naked you didn't have to wait until I got shot, you know?"

 You had said it in a playful manner, kidding, as a joke; but he saw beyond that. Part of you had only expected him to laugh, the other was dying —not pun intended— for him to kiss you. You'd have never said it if you weren't in this position, you'd have never gotten in between Joel and Tess.

 However, he didn't laugh, didn't make any funny remark. The way he looked at you, from under his eyebrows, lit a spark of hope somewhere inside you. Deep, deeper than your conscious mind would have ever reached. Joel didn't say anything, not even chuckled. His eyes came back to the wound, and uncovered the full sight of it.

 He had to fight a shocked gasp. His eyes fluttered, while holding his breath, between your own face and the wound. The bandage was still soaked in blood, that he had expected, but not the large bruise growing into your neck; or your right hand slightly paler than the other. He lifted, with trembling fingers, a corner of the bandage, and his action caused a trickle of dark blood to gush out, as if he had crushed a piece of watermelon between his fingers and it was now running down his arm. He looked below, inside his jacket, and saw a trail of blood that landed right into your navel.

 This time, it was impossible for him not to react. Not only his face, but also his body. He tried to get back on his two feet again, but before he finished the action, your fist closed around his wrist.

 "Joel..." he heard you call.

 "We need to go, now."

 Pressing your lips in a sad smile, you pulled him to the ground and he sat, mesmerised on that face he had only yet seen once; that time when he got too drunk on a Friday night and told you about Sarah at three in the morning. He felt his pulse quicken, his heart beating at the ends of his fingertips.

 "It's okay," you told him. Your gentle touch brushed his palm, danced around over his tan skin. "You can rest."

 Joel felt like he was in a fever dream. The setting certainly felt like it. You hadn't left the Boston QZ in a long while, and he had never pictured you out of those big silver walls either. He had not agreed to Tess' idea either, the dangers beyond the walls were almost impossible to escape. Still, Tess and him knew the city, they could get out fairly easily, had done that for a couple years to share stories over dinner with Bill and Frank. And Joel had loved the idea of seeing you sitting at that dinner table next to him, surrounded by a garden full of flowers, going through the dresses in the boutique that Tess had sworn you'd love.

 He had not signed up for this.

 "We need to go, please..." he tried a second time, but you just shook your head. He understood, somehow, what you meant.

 "A minute won't make a difference," you told him. In reality, you wanted to tell him that you'd be dead when he got the both of you to Lincoln, anyway. "If you are tired we will never get there."

 Useless and powerless as he felt, his only option was waiting. He took your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours and took a deep breath. You had never seen him so upset.

 "What are you so scared of?"

 At your words, his lower lip quivered slightly; it would almost have gone unnoticed if it wasn't because you had been watching him attentively for so many years. He looked at you, eyes barely half open, from under his eyelashes.

 "You're very important to me," he said. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, he seemed to be even more breathless than he was before. Joel had a hard time admitting his feelings, even to himself. "I don't know if you understand to what extent you're important to me."

 "I know..." you answered, nodding, your hand squeezed his for a second, trying to give him strength. "But you have Tess home, and your brother loves you... It will hurt for a while..."

 "Shut. Up."

 His eyes were tightly shut when he said it. It was a metaphor, almost, the way his eyes were closed not just to the physical world, but to the whole situation too that he couldn't escape from.

 The tip of your tongue wetted your lips.

 "What I'm trying to say is... it will pass..."

 His chest heaved, his gaps the only sound that filled the space between the two of you. And you continued:

 "People die all the time, Joel; and most times we can't do anything about it."

 His body rushed at you, his hands locked perfectly on both your cheeks, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally in place.

 "Not you, you hear me? Not you," he almost growled, his face a mixture of anger, determination, and grief. "Never you. You're not allowed to leave me. I will never forgive you."

 There was something hidden between the lines, something Joel wasn't saying. It was something you had denied yourself for a long time, for years, something you had insisted on not seeing because you didn't want to see it. Because, deep down, you were afraid that Joel would never love you back, that he would break your heart, that the only good man you'd ever known inside the walls of the Boston QZ would also be the one to abandon you to your luck.

 Joel had been your family for so long, and you had unconsciously protected yourself from seeing him as something else. But now there it was, clearly, latent in his confession. Your punishment for years of silence was now time, or rather, the lack of it.

 "I'm not giving up," he said. "and I need you not to give up either."

 He's close. His hot breath smells sweet -so instinctively Joel- and it's all around your face. His flesh is warm over the freezing skin of your cheeks. His body around you is shelter, is home.

 Joel is soon leaning in. He's all erratic breathing, rapid heartbeat and trembling hands; and as you close your eyes to allow his presence to swallow you like a black hole, he closes his eyes too.

 He doesn't let go, not just yet. He breathes in into your quick breaths the same way you revel in his.

 "I need an answer," he whispers over your mouth.

 "I won't, either."

 At first it's like a collision. He kisses you angrily for a split second, demanding and impatient; then, once he knows this is really happening, once he does understand that this is —finally— not a dream, he relaxes into your touch, your fingers delineating his jawline, caressing the beard there.

 He's quick, quicker than you'd have expected him to be; definitely quicker then he would have liked. He separates, then; and looks down at his jacket and the drops of blood staining the insides of it. It's not enough blood to send you into shock again, but it means part of the wound is ripping. You need stitches, not just a couple of bandages.

 "Enough resting then," he says.

   [***]

 Seven miles is usually nothing for Joel. In the first few months trading with Bill and Frank, Tess and him usually walked the fifteen miles that separated the city and the town at least twice a month. But this is all the more difficult, not just carrying you there, but knowing that he is running out of time.

 And you seem hellbent on making the journey even more difficult.

 "So...Tess?"

 "Pass."

 You huff, and the warm air sends a shiver down his spine; but he says nothing.

 "Okay."

 Your voice sounds so disappointed that he feels a pang of guilt. You know him better than to insist, and he knows that too. The guilt increases, though; and now he's inhaling a big gulp of air while still walking as fast as he possibly can without hurting his own knees.

 "We fucked a few times, before," he says. "but that doesn't mean anything. She's my colleague. That's all."

 If he was better with words, and feelings, he could say that he didn't feel anything for her. He could say that their hookups were nothing, just a fun thing they used to do before, before he realized that the one who he really wanted was you. A few months back he had realized that it never actually satisfied him, that those moments with Tess weren't as fun and innocent as they seemed to be before. They had talked about it, of course. He didn't want to play with her feelings, and that had been the end of it. She was just as fine without him, anyway.

 "I thought you two were dating."

 "If selling drugs for a living is what you call dating, then yes."

 Without even looking at you, he knew you were smiling, he could almost feel your lips stretching over his shirt.

 "I..." you said, then he heard you take another deep breath before talking again. "I'm sorry I asked you," another breath. "I... ran out of things to say."

 His brow furrowed in confusion.

 "You can say anything," he says. "Anything you really like, even a story."

 Anything just to know you're there...

 "Well..." you started. Then, a wheezing noise filled the air, followed by a gasp. "I... liked rock music-" silence. "...back in the day."

 "You okay?"

 Your fist tightened around his shoulder, your forehead pressing against his trapezius. He heard that wheezing sound again, followed by a pant. His hands squeezed harder the tender flesh under her knees.

 Joel tried to look at her, but all he could see from his peripheral vision was the top of her head and one eye tightly closed. His throat turned into knots.

 "Baby..." that was the most gentle tone you had ever heard coming from his mouth. "C'mon baby. Hold on, we're almost there."

 His whole body felt paralyzed, and he had to force himself to keep walking.

 What he didn't know was that your lungs were burning. They felt like a pair of balloons squeezing against your ribs, trying to expand beyond its cage. And it made all the pain in your back, from the shot, double as painful. The air you tried to swallow so bad, sounded like a whistle, like the breeze through an almost closed window. You were suffocating.

 "Talk to me, c'mon."

 With a painful drag of air, you complied.

 "I can't..." your fist tightened around the fabric of his shirt. "I can't."

 "Goddamnit..." he was panicking now. "Okay, that's okay baby. Just hold on to me, don't let go."

 Unable to do anything else, you just nodded as best you could and kept on holding on to him. His eyes desperately looked for signs of the town, and far away, in the distance, the row of trees ended; and he walked faster, hoping that Bill had already seen the both of you through the cameras.

 "J-Joel"

 You struggled to find air, and, therefore, the words.

 "Easy, easy" he said. "Just a bit more. You can do it, I know you can."

 His words lingered in the air, unanswered, not even him fully believed them. Joel was starting to feel his own shirt wet with blood from your wound. The feeling made him sick, his own imagination as he pictured what Bill was watching through the cameras, made it all a hundred times worse.

 He kept hearing the panting, the wheezing, becoming more desperate by the second. He realized, with horror, that you were suffocating righ there, on his back; from a collapsing lung, he guessed.

 He shouted Bill's name as he saw the fence that separated them from the town. Joel wasn't sure if he could hear him, but tried anyway.

 He felt your grip on his shirt hesitate, and he had to fight the instinct to squeeze your hand; if he had done it, you'd have fallen from his own grip. He heard you try and say his name.

 "Save it," he responded, even if it came out not as reassuring as he would have liked. "Don't try to talk."

 Before he reached the fence, it was already opening. Bill came out running, yelling something that he was too distracted to distinguish, Frank came behind him. Joel felt his knees wobble once through the gate. And now kneeling on the floor, he called your name, tried to turn his head to take a glimpse of you.

 "You did it. We're here."

 He noticed, then, that everything seemed all too silent. Everything that happened after that, happened very quickly. The hand that had been gripping his shirt slipped, limp over his shoulder.

 His mind disconnected, completely unaware of the other two people approaching. He released you with all the care that a person could have had, and his arms immediately caught you in an embrace. The sight of your closed eyes made him panic, and not having even checked your pulse, he buried his face into your neck and sobbed.

 Trails of blood ran through his forearms, and he threw up all the words that passed through his mind; a string of 'please stay' and 'I'm sorry'.

 "Joel," Frank struggled with him, fingers digging into his shoulder. "Joel you have to let go. Let us help her."

 He was too far gone, so much so that once your body hit the floor, Frank didn't allow him to touch you again. He sobbed, and, for a second, Bill saw himself in him. He would have never thought he would see Joel in this state, but yet there he was. He kept pressure on the wound, and saw himself in Joel, and Frank in you; and promised he would never let this happen to the two of them.

 Never.

  [***]

  The sun comes out the next morning. As it always does, as it always has. Orange light and blue skies illuminate the room, the clouds shine a different color; and Joel blinks; absolutely exhausted, devastated.

 His body is heavy, even if he's not holding any of his weight. He's sitting on the cold tiles, on the floor, his sore knees and thighs in the space under the bed, his head lying on the mattress, his whole body is bent over and it feels like jelly. His eyes are the only thing moving, they look at the window and see the night sky turn into daylight.

 Joel couldn't possibly say that he slept in that position; because he didn't actually sleep. He hasn't had a second of sleep since you got shot two days ago. Lying on the bed, is you, dormant; and his thumb draws circles on the back of you hand even if he's not paying attention to it. It comforts him to a degree, at least.

 Suddenly, pretty much everything has lost its meaning. Frank opens the door an hour later, almost tripping with the tray of food and water that he left the night before for Joel. He hasn't touched any of it. In fact, he forgot about it, but if it bothers him, Frank doesn't say anything. He takes it in his hands so he can take it to the kitchen downstairs.

 "We played 'I will survive' in the radio" he whispers before leaving. "It's a 70s song, but Tess will get the meaning."

 "Thank you," he mutters, his mouth pasty from barely speaking in the last twenty-four hours. Funnily enough, the only word he's said to them is 'thank you'.

 "You're welcome, Joel," he says. After a few seconds, waiting, he makes a dissatisfied sound. Frank approaches Joel, his palm squeezing his shoulder. "You should eat something, at least. Is there anything you want?"

 Joel looks at him, lifting his cheek from the mattress for the first time. His eyes are blood-shot and black circles adorn his eyes.

 "Coffee."

 "Not coffee, you need sleep."

 He huffs, his eyes lost in the window again. Frank, knowing he won't get anything from him again, vanishes behind the door and into the kitchen. He will bring him warm food later, hoping the smell will make him eat something despite his unwillingness to listen to any signal of hunger from his own body.

 A few moments later, your hand slips from his. As he loses your touch, a pang hits the pit of his stomach. But then, as he lifts from the mattress again, your fingertips lightly touch his chin, your thumb lovingly brushing his beard.

 "Baby?"

 Maybe he lost his sense of time, because he didn't expect you to wake up yet. In any case, when he sees your eyes open he practically pounces on the bed. He sits on the edge, and swallows the image of you looking at him.

 "Morning."

 He smiles at your words, feels his strength coming back into his body.

 "You're here," he says.

 Even beaten up as you look, he thinks you are gorgeous. Your face has regained its usual color, the bruising is coming down, changing colors little by little, the wound is stitched and bandaged, and the blood flow seems to reach your fingertips normally once again. Joel has no idea how Bill fixed the collapsing lung, he had said something about medical knowledge being necessary in the field too, but he hadn't paid attention. He doesn't care about the details, though. He just cares that you're safe and sound, and despite the close call, that has seemed to be the end result to this whole dilemma.

 There's no blood in sight, not even in the bandages. Frank had washed the blood from your hair the day before, and Joel had helped with the rest. He wished he could have you like this everyday: happy, clean, safe...

 In the last few hours Joel had discovered he was jealous. He wished he had a town like Lincoln all to himself, just so he could see you picking flowers in the front garden.

 "I'm here," you told him. The words felt like strawberries in his mouth. "and I'm not giving up on you."

 He released a breath he didn't know he was holding, leaned in for both your foreheads to meet, and kissed you.

[saikira999]

headcanons for how Idia and Malleus play Minecraft?

~ Headcanons for twst characters playing Minecraft.

I was a little late, but here are the headcannons! :D

Also, a little friendly reminder that English is not My native language and if you find errors in the text, please write to me about it.

Another parts about :

Azul and Lilia!

Riddle and Leona!

Jade and Floyd!

[Idia]

1) Absolute pro.

2) During the entire game, big bro has already set up His own server with tens of hundreds of buildings, houses and cities, on which all of Ignihyde plays...

But for you, beginners, He will of course make a new one.

3) Lives not in an ordinary house, but in a secret underground complex with hundreds of traps, secrets and secret passages. The entire dungeon is arranged quite professionally and beautifully, in a black and blue palette, using wool, clay, stone and several types of thin blocks and half-blocks, steps and other things. Instead of ordinary torches, he uses blue torches with soul fire.

4) He doesn’t trust his account to anyone except Ortho, but he tries to make sure that his beloved younger brother doesn’t waste any important resources or do anything unnecessary.

5) His favorite and least favorite location is Nether.

6) His base is guarded by three dogs with blue collars.

7) The same walking guide that explains to everyone and everything how to play and answers all kinds of questions.

8) The bro on the server has absolute power... After all, he is the admin here and the main expert in cheat codes.

9) Despite the fact that he feels much more confident in the square world, he still does not like to interact with other players and prefers to play alone. If there are too many players on the server, He either rushes to retire, or barely uses the microphone and hangs around somewhere in the corners.

He is most comfortable playing with Lilia, Ortho, Azul and possibly Yuu.

10) Keeps a joke counter when someone compares His hair to the blue soul fire (137)...

11) Loves block art and other buildings like statues of favorite anime characters.

12) Usually, he plays with a ton of shaders, mods and other additions, but since not all dorms are equipped with powerful hardware, like in Ignihyde, bro have to play with a minimum amount of additional details.

13) Knows all the cool bugs, recipes, theories and locations of Minecraft.

14) In one of the secret rooms he built a cemetery for His pets.

15) Of all the players, he comes to the server most often, and could have reached the dragon in one day, if not for Ortho’s gentle reminder that on a joint server you need to play TOGETHER.

16) His main fear is if His mother somehow logs onto the server.

17) Always swears at updates.

18) Sometimes he seriously thinks about buying the rights to the game...

19) Minecraft is my life!

20) MINECRAAAAAAAAAFT

(Insert audio from that screaming russian schoolboy meme)

[Malleus]

1) He doesn’t know what Minecraft is and when Yuu and Idia invite him to play (Invitation???? He’ll definitely join!), he asks Lilia what “Minecraft” is and what spell can He use to get into this mysterious world?

2) When he sits down at the computer for the first time, he falls into a crisis and looks at the square icon for a long time (3 hours), in sincere bewilderment.

Then he decides to try to figure it out on his own... And accidentally blows up the computer.

(Poor Lilia.)

4) FINALLY having figured out the controls on the phone (Still poor Lilia), he came onto the server and falls into a new crisis and shock from the appearance of the game...

"This is definitely... It will be interesting..."

5) Absolute noob. Bro sometimes even forgets that his character is weak and mortal. Several times, He simply walks into lava, forgets to eat, or swims in the water for a long time and is genuinely perplexed as to why his character is dying.

6) Tsunotaro's house is a simple wooden box made of dark oak logs, vines and flowers. There is no floor - only fragrant green grass. The windows are also missing and replaced with fences. Right at the doorstep is a garden with flowers, and on the roof there will be creepy, crooked figures made of blocks and half-blocks of stone and basalt (Gargoyles were planned).

Perhaps He will try in the future to rebuild the house into something more gothic, but Tsunotaro like architect, is like a Grim like nutritionist... Yuu is His most frequent guest and Draconia, according to all the rules of etiquette, tries to feed the visitor and force him to stay as a guest with Him, like a decent owner.... Oh, Yuu invites Him to visit...?

...He will definitely come and build Yuu a crooked gargoyle as a sign of gratitude... And I hope that a human child will be smart enough not to destroy His building...

.......No, I'm serious. Don't.

7) He doesn’t understand anything and either follows other players 24/7 or gets lost and Idia eventually finds him a couple hundred chunks away from the spawn location, trying to make friends with the bat.

8) Griefers? Who is this? Is there such a crazy person who would try to break down His house...?

9) Oddly enough, his main occupation is taming everyone he can. Cats? Parrots? Dogs? A whole farm with a variety of livestock from small to large? Two little slimes? Strange guy with white eyes behind the tree? Yuu? He will take care of everyone.... Rest assured)

+ Animals in this game do not age and cannot die unless you put them in danger, or play it safe and give them name tags....

10) The same guy whose game constantly crashes for some reason or whose microphone crashes.

11) Belongs to the type of people who can simply take and give another player either a beautiful, freshly picked flower, or incredibly rare and expensive armor or weapons, with several layers of enchantment, which He obtained from an unknown place and in an unknown way.

12) For a reason unknown to anyone, all mobs such as monsters, villagers and pillagers, except animals and children, bypass him.

13) Loves to wander through abandoned villages and mines.

14) In PVP he is not particularly smart and sticks with more neutral and calm players and rarely gets into fights with anyone... If at all anyone wants to fight with Him.

15) He dreams of building a GIANT Gargoyle, but so far, all he gets is another crooked, creepy pile of stones, only of larger sizes.

16) When he learns that the goal of the game is to kill the dragon and take It's egg, his reaction is literally: ....Mother?🤨

17) He doesn’t want to fight with His relative, and when Idia kills the dragon, he bursts into His room with lightning and thunder in order to interrogate the corpse of Gloomurai, which did not survive several heart attacks.

18) Tsunotaro took the egg for Himself and built a kind of temple for It (Surrounded by gargoyles, of course), and sincerely waited for it to hatch, until Lilia, who came to the rescue, said that this was not possible in the game.

19) Conclusion: One was disappointed because He could not atone for the brutally murdered dragon mother and raise Her child, and the second, although He laughed amicably, still grabbed a couple of Vietnamese (Briar Valley) flashbacks.

(Poor Malleus and Lilia)

20) Later, scared to death, Idia will install a mod especially for Tsunotaro that allows him to hatch and tame a dragon from the egg he received in The End 😊

(Poor Idia)

That's it! I am waiting for your new requests :3

Reblog Me, please? <:]

[honestlyspookytyphoon]

Moving In And Moving On

Summary: After months of being for sale, the house across Pascale’s is sold to a young woman, Y/N. When summer comes, both women have grown close and Pascale tries to set her up with her son, Charles. However, unbeknownst to Pascale, Y/N happens to be the woman who broke Charles’ heart not so long ago…

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female reader, but Pascale turned out to be the main character lol

Warnings: Angst (fed by a cruel thing called reality) – Brief mentions of loved ones passing away – The ending sucks, but I could not come up with anything better for now

Word count: +/- 2.5k

Author’s note: This piece was initially written as part 2 to ‘Cake, coffee and…Charles’, but it can also be read as a standalone. English is not my first language, so please forgive me any grammar mistakes and incoherent writing.

----------------------------------------------------------

Pascale was surprised when the ‘For Sale’-sign disappeared out of the front garden from the house across hers. The house had been empty since the elderly owners – Philippe and Lydia, two 80-plussers who had been together for over 65 years - moved to a care home several years ago and after both of them passed away, the family decided to sell it.

For the entire 15 years Pascale has been living in the neighbourhood, the house has been there. She warmed up to the elderly couple living across her quite soon and since then, Pascale had been there many times to chat or to help Philippe and Lydia with gardening or housekeeping when they were having health issues. In a way, the house was a part of her life. That is why, in a fit of nostalgia and melancholy, she decided to get the spare key and cross the street to visit the house one last time, before it would be teared down.

Pascale starts her tour in the small garden at the back, in which rare flowers used to blossom. She lively remembered the times when Philippe and Lydia brought her a small bouquet of these flowers to thank her, just because. Now, these flowers are all gone, overgrown by weed. From the garden, Pascale spots the small balcony at the side of the house, from which you have an amazing view of the surroundings. Philippe would sometimes serenade Lydia from below, knowing these romantic things riled her up the wall. Another fond memory of ancient times.

When Pascale enters the house, it is pitch black and musty. She tries to open the blinds but they are rusted. The power is out as well, so she uses the flashlight of her phone to get one last look of the interior. Despite the deck of dust and the fact that it surely is outdated – the house was built somewhere in the 1960’s –, the interior still creates a feeling of coming home, a safe haven. This feeling also appealed to Pascale’s three sons, who visited Philippe and Lydia from to time when they were young as the house looked like their grandparents’, who passed away too soon. When reminiscing the fond memories of her sons with ‘Phi and Ly’, she spots a picture of the five of them on the dresser. She remembers taking the picture during one of the many cookie-baking sprees on Wednesday afternoon: Lorenzo’s eyes were shooting daggers at Arthur for eating all the cookies, Charles was nickering and Philippe and Lydia were looking fondly at the three menaces in front of them. She gifted them the picture on their 60th anniversary and she never forgot their heartfelt reactions. Feeling tears welling up in her eyes, Pascale decides to take the picture with her before exiting via the back door. It was a house full of memories and history and Pascale hoped that the new owners could feel that too.

A few days after Pascale’s visit, the new owner arrived: Y/N, a 26-year-old woman. Since the house Y/N bought was old, much work needed to be done to meet current requirements and increase the comfort. As Y/N is just at the start of her career and many of Y/N’s savings were used to buy the house, she could not afford professional contractors to renovate the house; with the help of her parents and family, she is doing it all by herself.  However, as she has a full-time job, all work needs to be done during the weekends and after work, disturbing the peace in the otherwise quiet neighbourhood. Hence, to make sure her neighbours do not hate her already, she decides to visit them all to inform them on the upcoming works and to discuss planning.

Pascale was the last neighbour she visited. Y/N had knocked on Pascale’s front door a couple of time during the past weeks, but to no avail. The other neighbours had told Y/N about the special bond between Pascale and the previous owners, so she knew that this talk could be hard; she had to be delicate. Not that she held any accountability to Pascale – Y/N bought the house after all – but she had felt similarly when her grandmother’s house was sold; it takes time to accept that a place one grew accustomed is no longer there. Hence, Y/N wanted to show Pascale what the house would look like in the end and ensure her that she did not expect Pascale to accept her immediately. Taking one deep breath, Y/N rang the doorbell of Avenue Paul Doumer 5.

--- Three months later ----

The construction works were in full swing. The facade stones were taken away, cleaned and reused, the house’s insulation was improved and the windows were replaced. Today, Y/N and her nephew were removing the roof tiles to check and repair the underlying woodwork. Pascale watches both of them through her window. In the past months, she and Y/N have grown close. Pascale needed some time to get used to the new situation, but Y/N had been very understanding and an absolute sweetheart. The construction works never started before 7 a.m. and always ended at 10:30 p.m. sharp as agreed upon with the neighbourhood, she informed everybody upfront when there were any changes in the schedules, and she insisted to pay for the water, electricity and utensils she used. Pascale and Y/N always had a small chat when they saw each other and Lorenzo and Arthur, who visited their mom every month, also grew fond of her. Y/N was yet to meet Charles though, Pascale’s middle son, due to his busy racing schedule.

If he only met her, Pascale thought, she is the type of girl he needs. With the F1 summer break just around the corner and the final phase of the construction works nearing, an idea popped up in Pascale’s head.

---- August -----

The day of the street BBQ had come. Pascale had been preparing this event for weeks: doing a tour around the neighbourhood to fix a date, visiting the town hall to get permission to close the street, rent the tables, seats and parasols, making decorations and, of course, preparing the food and drinks – it has been hectic, but she was determined to make this day perfect.  

It was now 3 p.m. Charles parked his Ferrari at the small parking lot at the church and jogged his way over to his mother’s house. He knew he was running a bit late - something that his mother always told him was disrespectful - but he was met with a little fan on his way to the BBQ and he just could not refuse the small boy’s request to sign his drawing. When he spotted Pascale on the street, a small smile grew on his face; he loved his mom so dearly and it has been way to long since the last time they saw each other.

Pascale has been chatting with Y/N for almost 30 minutes now, only interrupted by her two sons – who told her that Charles would arrive a little later – and some other neighbours. Y/N was dressed in a loose floral dress that came a little above the knees, paired with white sneakers. She was wearing very little make-up and, much to Pascale’s relief, no wedding or engagement ring. Together with the fact that she had never seen any men at the site except for family members and never saw another car in the driveway than Y/N’s, Pascale was convinced that Y/N was single. She knew Charles was too but not wanting to be too intrusive, she decided to just plant a seed between Charles and her new neighbour today and see it from there.

When she heard the deep sound of Charles’ Ferrari, Pascale told Y/N that her third son had arrived and that she would be right back. Y/N’s hands became sweaty. Ever since she found out Pascale was Charles’ mom, she had been dreading this moment. There was no turning back now though.

---- Flashback ----

When Y/N visited Pascale for the first time last winter, her eyes quickly landed on all the family portraits hanging on the wall. It were paintings of a family of five, probably made by her sons in preschool, and pictures of Lorenzo, Arthur and Charles in different periods of their lives. In the middle hung a beautiful black-and-white picture of her husband, Hervé, who sadly passed away when the kids were still little. “There has been no other man in my life ever since”, Pascale said, the love for her deceased husband still evident in her voice. Looking at the paintings and pictures, Pascale could not help but be proud of where her family was now. Arthur and Charles were professional athletes and Lorenzo was active in finance. Both Lorenzo and Arthur had a lovely girlfriend, the eldest already thinking about children. Charles, however, was less steady when it came to love. After two long-term relationships, Charles got a bit lost; it was not easy for Charles to maintain a relationship given his hectic and public life. Although Pascale was sceptical and warned her son many times – as there are always people who try to surf on other’s success –, it hurt her to see him like this, trying to erase the loneliness inside him with alcohol and volatile love. At the end of last season though, a little spark returned in Charles’ eyes. He did not disclose much to his mom, apart from that he met a girl in France whilst being out with Pierre and some other friends and that they were texting each other very often. She had not heard him talk about her since the new season started, so she assumed that she was just another fling.

“That’s Lorenzo, this is Arthur and that’s Charles. Aren’t they beautiful young men, Y/N?” Pascale asked.

“They are, Pascale, they are”, Y/N replied. She was still looking at the picture of Charles, all memories of last winter hitting her like a truck.

It was almost a year ago when Charles and Y/N met each other in a small café in the south of France. Charles was out with his friends, unwinding from the previous season and enjoying a short get-away to prepare for the upcoming winter testing. Y/N happened to be in Nîmes that week for work and that is how they met. She had been quite bold that afternoon, handing her number to Charles when she left the café, fully well knowing who he was. She never expected him to do something with it – he was one of world’s eligible bachelors after all – so she almost fainted when he called her the next day, saying how much he liked talking to her. They kept texting from that day onwards, throwing in the occasional FaceTime-call late at night. Despite the fact that they were both busy and lived in other countries, not a day passed without contact. Long story short, Y/N and Charles were falling for each other, hard.

Pierre did not stop teasing Charles about it, relieved to see his best friend happy again. The people at Ferrari knew that there was something going on, sensing that the fast laps Charles was setting were not only due to the changes to the car. His brothers noticed he was mentally somewhere else when he did no longer weep the floor with Arthur during their weekly tennis matches. The presence of Y/N in Charles’ life changed him, but in a good way. He was glowing.

Y/N grew fonder of Charles by the second; he was such a sweetheart. While she was not into F1 that much before she met him, she was learning about the sport and following the testing sessions in Bahrein, such that they could talk about it without her sounding like a complete and utter fool. She found a renewed motivation in her work, supported by Charles who was amazed by both her beauty and brains – and he told her that, every day. She got back into learning French such that she could – or, at least, try – to talk to Charles in his mother tongue. In return, he gave her cute, French nicknames that made her blush, which Charles found incredibly endearing. She was glowing.

However, when it hit Y/N that the F1 season would be starting soon, she started to think. She loved Charles, she was sure of that, but a long-term relationship would not work. She had her responsibilities at home and Charles would be busy travelling, training and racing - she had been in a similar relationship before and things ended badly. The media would focus more on him too after he finished 2nd in last year's championship, attracting the attention from (new) female fans. Not that Y/N was the jealous type or that she did not trust him, but she knew there are women out there who are better suited for Charles, beautiful women who are willing to make sacrificies. Women Charles deserves. Therefore, before Y/N would move to her new home and Charles would start the season, they met in Turin to talk about it all. Y/N told Charles about her sorrows and although he wanted to deny it, despite him wanting all her reasoning to be wrong, despite him wanting to tell her to listen to her heart instead of her head, he knew she was right. Therefore, Charles and Y/N used the rest of that week in Turin to feel what it could have been; they had date nights in cosy restaurants, strolled through the city, went on hikes together and made the sweetest love. After sharing one last kiss at the airport and promising each other to never forget what they shared, Charles and Y/N parted ways.

For good.

---- Present -----  

Pascale swiftly disappeared to find her son. The local cover band Pascale hired was giving it all on the small stage and people were chatting away and enjoying the delicious pastries from the local bakery shop just a few blocks away. Y/N started mingling with Sebastien and Amélie, a young couple that was also relatively new to the neighbourhood.

Once he greeted everybody at the party, Charles was finally able to give his mom a proper hug. After a preach on how she does not see him enough and once made sure that he does take care of himself and eating enough, Pascale started updating him on all the latest gossip. Charles loves to gossip, especially with his mom because he loves how invested she is in it. After 20 minutes or so, when she decided she told Charles everything he needed to know, Pascale started to look around. She spotted Y/N a few tables further away, entertaining little Kasper. “I want you to meet our new neighbour, Charles. She is there with Kasper and Amélie. Come on.”

Although Charles did not know his mom’s new neighbour, he felt like he already did based on the stories Lorenzo and Arthur had been telling. From what he heard, she seems to be a lovely young woman. When he looked into the direction of little Kasper, he spotted her. She was wearing a white dress, which contrasted nicely against her bronzed skinned. Her hair was up in a messy bun, showing the delicate skin of her neck and shoulders. When he heard that the neighbours’ name was Y/N, his thoughts instinctively drifted back to his Y/N, his lost love, the woman whom he shared to best week of his life with. However, he never thought it would actually be her but now that he sees her, her petite frame, he knows it is her. The woman whose body he knows like the circuit of Monaco. The woman who still owns his heart. The woman he said goodbye to in Turin.

For good.

At least, that is what they both thought. Pascale gently taps Y/N on her shoulder. She turns around. “Y/N, I want you to meet my son Charles. Charles, this is Y/N, the new neighbour I told you about”.

Their eyes meet, for the first time in months. 

Should they act as if they never met?

Should she tell him that she moved on?

Should he tell her that he has not?

---------------------------------------------------

[flowerandblood]

The Prince and The Fox (2)

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: bullying, mention of sexual abuse, trauma ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood! Story Music Playlist. Songs used in this chapter: Turn Your Back on me & The Lion's Mouth by Kajagoogoo and Welcome to the Jungle by Guns N' Roses.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

That night she slept very badly. Her parents asked why she had come back so early and if she had enjoyed herself. She burst out crying, unaccustomed to lying, and told them what had happened.

Her father was furious, stormed out of the house and made her show him which boy had nagged and touched her. She begged him to let it go, Cregan had been away from the party for a long time, they had gone somewhere with friends.

Her father said he wouldn't leave it like that and demanded to speak to Aemond. The next morning she appeared, accompanied by her father, at their house, embarrassed, her father explaining what had happened. Their mother was shocked by what she had heard.

She, her father, Alicent, Aegon, Aemond and Helaena sat down in the living room to talk about it.

"What? God, I swear, Mum, I didn't know Cregan would do something like that!" Mumbled Aegon, shocked at what had happened, Helaena was distraught and sat beside her, stroking her hand. Aemond looked at her, some kind of understanding in his eyes.

He felt that she had done the right thing telling her parents about it.

"Aemond, my daughter told me that you stopped him and stood up for her. I am very grateful to you and I want to ask you, if his parents insisted that it was word against word, will you be able to confirm what she said?" Her father asked, and he nodded without hesitation, tightening his lips.

"Yes. It was exactly as she said. I heard him tell his mates at school during break that he was planning to fuck her here at the party." He said in shame, lowering his gaze, his mother shaking her head in disbelief, slapping her hands on her thighs in a gesture of helplessness and rage.

"And you kept silent?" She asked with disappointment and pain. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard, overwhelmed apparently by remorse.

She felt her stomach tighten at the thought that he really hadn't meant to stop then, that he could have done something much worse to her.

Aemond lifted a gaze full of pain and shame at her.

"I-I thought he was just bragging to his mates and... I don't know, that you're into each other. That maybe you want this too. That he's actually a good guy and wouldn't do anything to you against your will. But when I saw your face when he started touching your thigh on the couch, that look of discomfort, I…" He said in a slightly trembling voice and paused, looking her straight in the eye.

She swallowed hard, understanding what he wanted to say.

He didn't expect it from him either.

She nodded, feeling warm in her heart nonetheless at the thought that he had followed them out to see if anything would happen to her.

If he would hurt her.

She covered her face with her hand, her father put his arm around her and stroked her tenderly.

"It's good that you spoke about it, sweetheart. You can't leave it like that." Alicent said, nodding her head. Suddenly she clapped her hands as if she remembered something.

"The cameras! Our security company keeps footage for 48 hours. We also have one in the garden in case of a break-in, why don't I call them and ask them to send us the video from yesterday? We'll check if we can see anything on it." She suggested, her father said it was an excellent idea.

She lowered her head, terrified that her father and others would be able to see it, that perhaps on the video it wouldn't look like sexual assault at all.

After all, she had hugged him herself.

They waited impatiently by Alicent's laptop, sitting down and glancing at her inbox, the security company employee who was in charge of her equipment said he would try to send her the footage within fifteen minutes.

They all flinched and moved closer as a new message appeared with a video file. She swallowed loudly, terrified, ashamed, feeling a tightening in her stomach and throat, afraid that it didn't look at all like she said it did, that everyone would think she was lying, that they would never believe her again.

She felt herself shaking, her knee moving up and down in an involuntary tic. She shuddered when she heard someone put a chair next to her, Aemond sat down touching her with his knees and shoulders, placing his elbows on the table, leaning over the monitor.

"It was about ten o'clock at night, Mum. I remember because by the time I left the clock was striking the hour in the living room." He said lowly, and Alicent quickly ran the cursor to that hour and turned on the accelerator a few times.

"Oh okay, mum, it's them, I can see Cregan!" Said Aegon, leaning between them, turning off the acceleration. Alicent pressed the spacebar, stopping the video.

"Do you want everyone to watch this?" She asked her quietly. She looked around and thought, in essence, that she recognised that these were people she trusted, who she hoped cared about her.

She nodded, swallowing hard.

Alicent pressed play.

The camera was up high and part of the bench was obscured by the canopy, their faces not visible. She saw them sit down, saw his arm around her, stroking her hand for a moment. She felt a cold sweat on her back as she saw his fingers lift higher and higher, heard Aegon and his mother draw in a loud breath as his hand slid under her dress.

Her father covered his mouth, heartbroken when he saw her hand immediately clamp down on his wrist in a clear gesture of defence, her whole body tense, it was obvious she was trying to pull away, to push back, to escape, and instead of letting her go he pressed her tighter against him.

She felt tears under her eyelids and lowered her head, not knowing where to look, she felt Aemond press his body closer to hers, felt his breath on the top of her head, felt him looking at her.

"− Jesus −" Muttered Aegon in disbelief, running a hand over his face. "− fucking piece of shit −"

Then they could already see Cregan and Aemond struggling with each other, her sitting down on the grass and crying, Aemond crouching down beside her and putting his arms around her, saying something to her.

The footage had no sound, but what could be seen on it was enough to clearly understand what had happened.

Her father got up and said he needed to get some air for a while and smoke a cigarette. Alicent followed him out, apparently wanting to work out what they were going to do, whether to report it to the police or not.

She felt Helaena's warm embrace, felt her lay her head on her shoulder and hugged her immediately, Aegon and Aemond looked at them in silence.

"− I'm sorry − fuck − if I had known, I would never have invited him! − I saw you two cuddling on the couch in the living room, but God, I thought you two were just in love − that, I don't know, you're together, just unofficially yet −" He mumbled, and she swallowed loudly, rubbing her eyes, trying to pull herself together.

"− please, Aegon − it's not your fault − you didn't do anything wrong − don't worry, I won't tell anyone about the alcohol −" She said quietly, tiredly, and he sighed heavily, scratching his head, clearly distraught that something like this had happened at his own party.

Aemond said nothing, fiddling with his mug of already half-cold coffee, it seemed to her that he hadn't slept well that night either.

Her father had decided that they would drive with this recording to his parents.

She was horrified.

"I will go with you." Aemond said, and her father nodded.

They drove there together in their car with Alicent's laptop. They sat side by side in the back seat, she saw that he was pulling at the cuticles around his fingernails again, she noticed with pain that he had actual wounds around them.

When he saw in the reflection in the window that she was looking at him he stopped immediately and swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze.

He was stressed too.

When they arrived a surprised Mrs Stark opened the door for them, asking who they were and what had happened.

"I would like to talk to you about your son."

She, Aemond and her father sat on the couch on one side and Cregan and his parents on the other as her father played them the video. Cregan was pale, sitting with his arms folded, feigning indifference, his knee shaking restlessly, he was biting his lower lip, his eyes red.

He was terrified.

His mother made big eyes when she saw the moment he slipped his hand under her dress and looked at him with disbelief mixed with pain. His father snorted, shrugging his shoulders.

"And what, are you going to go to the police? Destroy a young boy's life because he made a mistake, because his hormones are raging?" He asked as if it was a trivial matter, a complete nothing. She felt the rage surge in her father.

"Because of your son's hormones, he can act like a mindless monkey and grope girls who don't want him to?" He hissed, his father raising his eyebrows, pointing at her with his hand.

"Please, forgive me, but from what I can see in this video your daughter was pushing herself into his arms, after all he could have misunderstood her…"

"Mark." Said his wife, clearly not believing what she was hearing, pale.

Her father stood up, pointing his finger at her.

"My child came home crying because someone molested her. He only stopped because her classmate went out into the garden. And what would your son do if no one helped her, hm? How long would he hold her while she tried to break free?" He thundered furiously on the verge of tears, she had never seen him like this before.

She just sat on the couch, looking at her shoes, shaking all over, feeling that her biggest nightmare had just taken place in front of her eyes.

Please, forgive me, but from what I can see in this video your daughter was pushing herself into his arms.

Mr Stark raised his hands in a defensive gesture as if to show that his aim was not to argue or escalate the conflict.

"I admit, my son acted unwisely. He misread the girl's signals and behaved badly. We will be watching him more closely in this area. Is that all?" He asked, and her father closed the laptop with a loud slam and growled to them that they were leaving.

She stood up and cast one last look in Cregan's direction, he was looking at her with a hatred she had never seen in her life before.

She burst into sobs as soon as they got into the car, her father comforting her loudly telling her not to cry, that they were driving to the police station.

"No, no, please, no!" She whimpered, leaning forward, grabbing his arm, her father looked at her in the mirror.

"What?"

"I can't do it, I can't do it anymore. I… stop, I think I'm going to throw up." She mumbled, her father stopped with a squeal of tyres. She got out and immediately vomited on the grass, coughing and crying, feeling her stomach convulse in pain.

She heard them both get out of the car, her father put his arms around her saying that everything would be fine, Aemond stood beside them not knowing what to do with himself, not knowing how to behave.

The next few days at school were extremely difficult for her. Some of her friends and acquaintances were shocked and horrified, giving her their complete support and understanding, saying they were disappointed by Cregan's behaviour.

However, others thought that she was simply lying.

"Attention whore." One of his friends growled, hitting her on the shoulder with his arm as he walked past her.

She saw that someone had scratched the word 'liar' on her locker standing in the corridor. She looked at it indifferently, then opened it as if nothing had happened and exchanged the books she needed with the ones she could put away.

This time he was the one looking at her.

She felt his gaze on her back in the classroom, in the corridor, as she sat at the bus stop looking at her shoes.

For some reason, even though she was alive and everything was going on, she felt dead.

She couldn't erase his touch from her mind.

She sat on the bus in total reverie, occupying the seat at the back by the window, sitting in her earphones, listening recently to nothing but Kajagoogoo songs, 'Too shy', 'Turn Your Back On Me', 'Ooh to Be Ah', 'The Lion's Mouth' looped on her player.

Their electronic sound and the wonderful bass guitar in the background energised her when she had no strength and couldn't rouse herself.

She had just listened to 'Turn Your Back On Me' for the second time since the morning when she felt someone sit down next to her.

She glanced to the side and spotted a black sweatshirt, familiar hands clicking something on his phone, apparently pausing the song he had just listened to on his player, she saw that it was 'Welcome to the Jungle' by Guns N' Roses. She pulled down one earpiece, looking at him in surprise.

"What are you listening to?" He asked, pulling on the cord of his black earphones, which dropped gently onto his lap with a quiet click.

She handed him her earphone, which he took from her, placing it in his left ear, moving a little closer to her so that there was enough cable for both of them. He mused, listening.

"Interesting." He muttered lowly, glancing at her player.

"Kajagoogoo." She said quietly, going into the track list so he could see what their songs were called.

"Nice bass." He admitted, as if surprised by this discovery himself. She nodded and closed her eyes, resting her temple against the glass, just sinking into the sound of the music.

He listened to the songs of her favourite band with her until they reached the school.

When the bus stopped he handed her back her earpiece, their hands touched. They looked at each other, for the first time so closely. He picked up his backpack and rose, trying not to hit his head on the low ceiling and walked out in front of her, no longer paying attention to her.

She walked through the corridor of her school listening to "The Lion's Mouth", trying not to pay attention to whether anyone was looking at her or not, focusing on the words of the song, staring blankly ahead.

Hey fool watch out! (Watch out) You'll get mauled by the lion's mouth -

Hey fool watch out! (Watch out) You'll get mauled by the lion's mouth (I don't think so) -

Hey fool watch out! (Watch out) You'll get mauled by the lion's mouth -

The music suddenly stopped when someone tripped her up. She wobbled and fell over, collapsing on the floor, her earphones falling out of her ears. She lifted herself up on her arms and turned over her shoulder, noticing Cregan's hateful stare.

A moment later, several things happened at the same time. Aemond who threw him to the floor, pounding his face with his fist, holding his sweatshirt, growling that he was a fucking piece of shit, a mere abuser, a nobody, a zero.

His colleagues and teachers had to separate them, Cregan spat blood on the floor.

She felt someone grab her shoulders, Helaena stood over her, looking at her in horror.

"Are you all right?"

She sat in her classroom terrified, glancing anxiously over her shoulder at the empty seat in the bench he sat in, knowing that he and Cregan had ended up at the headmaster's office.

That he was in trouble because of her, that he could be suspended because of her.

She shuddered when she heard the sound of the door opening and saw him step inside, the teacher paused his reasoning for a moment and grunted, returning to the subject of the lesson.

Aemond walked over to his bench without a word, not looking at her, and sat down in his chair, pulling off his backpack, taking out his textbooks and notebook, giving her one calm look.

She pulled her phone quickly from her sweatshirt pocket, reminding herself that she had his phone number, and quickly texted him.

She heard his phone vibrate on his bench. She sat looking ahead, feeling her heart pounding hard.

After a moment, the display of her phone lying on her thighs lit up and she saw that she had received a new message. She opened it quickly, feeling a tightness in her throat.

She turned towards him over her shoulder, his lips curving into a grin. She smiled gratefully at him and breathed quietly, turning ahead, trying to finally focus on what her teacher was talking about.

Boarding the bus after class, she dared to sit next to him. They looked at each other, he watched as she untangled her earphones and plugged them into her phone. She saw him pull his own off and pause his player.

"Are you going to listen to that band with weird name again?" He asked lowly and she nodded, smiling at him.

He held out his hand to her and she handed him her earpiece, this time with her left hand, turning on 'The Lion's Mouth'.

"This is my favourite." She admitted with a smile, feeling calm for some reason, her stomach filled with warmth.

"Mmm." He hummed, their elbows resting against each other lying on their armrest, however neither of them seemed to mind.

She understood then.

The Little Prince took a step towards the Fox of his free will.

She smiled under her breath.

He wanted her to tame him.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

[drchenquill]

✨ Writerblr intro ✨

[Because my old one was crusty and in dire need of a revamp]

Hello lovely person who stumbled upon this blog! I'm glad to have you and I welcome you to my writeblr! Let's start with a little writer introduction, shall we?

About me~

✨ 21+

✨ she/her

✨ You can call me anything you want! I don't have preferences in names!

✨ Animal lover! (proud owner of four dogs and four cats!)

✨ English is NOT my first language. Motherlanguages are Italian-German.

✨ I only write in German so everything you see here got translated.

✨ You can go check out my Pinterest where you can find boards of some of my OCs!

About my writing~

My favorite genres to write in are fantasy and romance (I dabble in other genres, but those are my main ones). I just love the fluff, the angst, the magic, everything to do with those genres.

I have a lot of WIPs, and I won't bore you by listing them all (because, let's be honest, the number can change at any moment.) But I do have some stories I've finished and translated that I can list!

Who's to judge?

"Humans, vampires. They always existed, they always fought for a place in this vast world. Some succeed, some lose themself in the journey to freedom. Thana was different. She never fought, she never stepped out of line. Thana gave up. She had nothing to fight for, nothing to hold onto.

But what would happen if one accident forces her out of her comfort zone? What would happen if she had to fight for something she had long forgotten? Fight for people she thought meant nothing to her?"

Crime/Mystery/Thriller/Vampires

The Monster's Pearl

"There was once a castle. It was huge and dark, not a soul dared to go near it. It was called "The Gate of the Underworld" because a lonely man lived there. Rumor had it that he was a demon who had crawled out of hell.

There was once a simple family. They had a healthy boy. He had black curls. They were so dark that even the night was afraid to get lost in them. His eyes were so bright that even the sun had to look away to avoid being blinded. His voice silenced the birds so that they could listen to him.

The little boy grew up healthy, unaware of the background to his birth. On his eighteenth birthday, he received two suitcases and a letter that would change his whole life.

Will he be able to adjust to his new life, or will he throw it all away?"

Romance/Drama/Fantasy/LGBTQ+

The Shadow of Her Dreams

[currently being translated]

"Molly Potts is an ordinary young woman who lives with her family in a small village in the middle of nowhere. Despite her peaceful life, she feels a great need to leave, to go somewhere where she can experience something instead of dying of boredom. But her monotonous life is quickly thrown off course when she and her brother discover something that will shake up their entire lives. And who is this woman who keeps appearing in her dreams?"

Fantasy/Adventure/Romance/Greek Mythology insipired

Short Stories

"As the title already explains, this is a collection of short stories that are too short to become a book, but still wanted to be told."

a lot of different genres

WIPs

There are some WIPs I mentioned here and there, so I will make a little introduction for those~

Him and Me - Bound by Fate

"Leon Martens. A young art teacher ready to start a new life. He has a new job, a new apartment and maybe a change for peace. Sure, he struggles with human interactions and he'd rather not meet any humans in general, but he's happy with what he has. But since fate was something Leon couldn't prevent, he was thrown into a whirlwind of situations that made him question reality and, more than once, his own mental stability."

Fantasy/Mystery/Romance/LGBTQ+

Daisy

"Daisy ran, she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She fled from a fate that was being forced upon her. She fled from her pack, or rather, from her alpha. The young Daisy was an omega. Ever since she was born, she knew that being born an omega was a curse. Her alpha believed that she belonged to him, that he could mark her, but Daisy wouldn't let that happen. Daisy wanted freedom, but what if her freedom led her into another pack? Will they be the same? And who is this nameless alpha that is considered as monster but manages to make her forget her fear?"

Werewolves/Romance/Drama

The Memories of The Future

"Sophie is an easily excitable, cheerful young girl. She lives with her aunt after her parents tragically passed away. Unfortunately, she doesn't remember much about them since she was just a baby. Her aunt and her border collie, Pepper, are the only ones Sophie has in her heart, and she'll spend the rest of her life with them. The only problem with her idyllic life is that little old Sophie has the attention span of a squirrel and it's hyperactivity. She misplaces, forgets, runs around, misplaces again, and those silly dreams and sudden flashes don't help. Also, who is this tall man who suddenly appears and claims that Sophie has visions? No, those are not visions, she just has a very vivid imagination, right?"

Fantasy/Adventure/Comedy

Adelaide

"Adelaide Blackmore, the gossip of all Povington. Growing up as the youngest of four children, with three full-grown and well-behaved sons, she was the worst thing that could have happened to her parents. Wild red hair that the maid had to style every day in vain. Her chemise dresses always had to be dark in color, as she didn't feel the need to avoid puddles or stay out of mud. The look in her dark eyes was penetrating, never receding. She grew up with three brothers, her whole childhood was spent fighting with the boys, so her noble mother couldn't expect her to grow up as a lady, not when she had to assert herself on a daily basis.

But Adelaide must be married, or her poor mother may never rest in peace. Enter Mr. Duncan Gilingham. A young man in his early 30s, he has just moved to Povington with his dear mother to find peace in the country. How nice, he was not married yet! But… oh dear, no wonder he is not married, the poor man was blind. How will Adelaide deal with this? Will she have pity on him, or is not even his blindness safe from her sharp tongue? How will she react when she finds in him a match for her rude nature, a man she thought incapable of taking care of himself?"

Romance/Drama

Foliè

You can read it directly here!

Chapter 1 - The Beginning

Dystopian/Fantasy/Psychological

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

I am not a big rambler because I don't want to annoy anyone but I'm always open to questions or any sort of interactions. Also, i'm very tag game friendly!

Thank you for reading this far, I appreciate it! You are an amazing human being, don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Any headcanons for passive Nightmare?

And if he were to meet Killer/young dream tale siblings?

Aw man I don’t check my inbox as frequently as I should. Too many unanswered questions going unanswered for too long. (Like 9 hrs to 2 days long)

Now the twins aren’t my main focus at the moment (and I beef with corrupted nightmare I hate him most of the time ong) but one HC I always had was that Dream keeps well kept, decorated wooden boxes filled with Passive’s favorite books. Ink paints the boxes with gorgeous colors and Swap carves in pretty symbols and decorations.

He tries to maintain the original copies and add new books written by Passive’s favorite authors, even if Passive died too young to read the books himself. Maybe in hopes that he’ll get his brother back one day and Passive will get to read them himself.

Because it’s been like 500 something years, I can see Dream painstakingly going through the trouble of writing down the written words onto paper and binding them himself every few years.

Or at least requesting/paying for someone to help him do so. I can also see Dream going through the trouble of translating the books into different languages, such as English, Old English, Spanish, etc, etc. any language that he knows Passive knew.

I also like to think that Ink draws pictures of Passive and young Dream and maybe how Passive would look if he were able to live and grow older for Dream. Dreamtale didn’t have the technology to take pictures, but luckily Dream is/was friends with an artist who is the protector of AUs & is also hyperfixated on AUs im pretty sure.

And Dream cherishes these a lot, not only because they’re accurate and it’s a way to further remember his brother, but because it’s a very sweet thing for Ink to do for him. I think Dream also cherishes these pictures as memories of his friendship with Ink, even after their falling out.

So I like to Hc that similar to the way people hc Nightmare/Corrupted to have a library in his castle, I like to think Dream maintains a little library of his own for Passive.

And maybe he entrusts the boxes of books to either Swap or Ink, keeping it somewhere safe in the Doodlesphere perhaps. And like Ink made sure to write down where he left the boxes on their scarf so he doesn’t forget where they put them.

And also Ink and Swap helps Dream hunt down any books that Passive liked that were lost in the 500+ year passage of time.

Now if Killer were to meet Passive, assuming Passive and Corrupted are the same person, I doubt his thoughts about Nightmare would really change. Passive would probably think Killer’s a weird, cryptic individual who is oddly interested in the black apples and yet seemingly unaffected by them too.

Passive would probably get the vibe that Killer knows something he doesn’t and is mocking him for it (regardless of if Killer actually is or not, Passive was a heavily bullied 6 yr old, most people he interacted with were often mocking towards him). I doubt Passive would feel comfortable around Killer, and Killer would enjoy making any version of Nightmare uneasy around him.

(Given how Killer projects his own shit with his Chara on to even Underswap Chara, despite eventually realizing that Underswap isn’t actually his Chara, I don’t doubt he’d do the same with Passive and Corrupted.

If Passive and Corrupted are separate entities, and assuming Killer knows that, at most he might give some cryptic “avoid doing this” bullshit type of advice.

If Passive was never meant to survive or grow up, which certainly seems the case just by going off the name of the AU—Dreamtale—then I doubt Killer actually believes he can do anything to change it. And why would he care to, his allegiances don’t lie with Passive in this case.)

[ameliahexagon]

Plot:

Once upon a time, the Earth was created, everything was calm, but one day it was replaced by a nightmare due to a new virus called Darkness. Due to frequent wars with it, most of the figures died and became infected, until families came - now groups that stopped the loss of lives and also died from the virus. The infection still worries people, and their heroes will have to go through a lot to stop it...

Notes:

The age of the characters in this AU is more canonical, except for Cirtunda. The thing is that Polina and I started making the story before season 2, so at first we thought that she was 20-22 somewhere and she was Spheer's mother, but we were wrong. Despite the mistake, we left her, let us have differences.

The AU contains not only canon couples, but also canon with OC, among them there is one non-canon! This is not a proship, but our own story, learn to distinguish fan fiction from reality!

The birth of figures occurs with the help of the union of the souls of a couple, after which another soul appears, and from it a baby.

Attention! AU is in the category for people from 13 years old and in some moments from 16! There are murders and their incomplete description, blood, a little religion, violence and cruelty! Romance at the level of kisses, hugs, friendship at the level of hugs (between boys and also girls) and kisses (only on the cheek, forehead and nose, but between girls).

Terra and Void have wives - these are Luna and Midnight, they are each other's sisters. The first appeared from the Universe, and the second from the Dark energy of the Universe. Luna and Midnight also helped their husbands with the creation of the Earth, but they could not make normal animals and nature, which is why they will create the Backrooms in the 11th century. This world will also be connected with glitches and Darkness, figures will get there and among them relatives of the groups. I will show them separately.

The story about the Backrooms, although connected with the AU, will be separate.

The AU is based on canon, has connections with reality and the history of the world, but here it is slightly changed.

Paradise is a separate country bordering Eurasia and Africa. The main languages ​​are English and Russian (the TPC fandom mainly consists of English and Russian people). Beyond the borders of Paradise there is a separate territory with four cities, but this is not a state.

The religion in this AU based on Orthodox Christianity or just Christianity. Terra is here as Jesus Christ and Void as Satan, but Void on the good side.

This story took me almost two hours ... I hope you liked it!:3

(Please, reblog these two posts about AU in order to people could see it)

[plague-of-insomnia]

what kind of accents do you think the cast has? im a dub main for various reasons (one of my friends had a reading/memory disability so i ended up watching dub w them) so im kinda used to everyones dub accents.

but bards defo got an american accent right? (not in the dub, but im thinking manga terms?)

and ik soma & agni have barely a trace of an accent but does that mean they sound basically british?

and does finny have a german accent? sieglinde? diedrich?

idk food for thought?

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

(Sorry it’s been a rough couple days and I didn’t realize I hadn’t published this yet.)

Hey anon… so I’m a bit confused as to if you’re asking about the Japanese accents in the various anime, the English dub accents (or some other dub), or just my thoughts on what their various accents would be like based on the manga and independent of the anime.

Now I have only watched Kuro in English bc that’s the only thing that was available/that’s available on what I have at the moment (though I’m finally getting the blu rays for BoM and BoA so I’m hoping they’ll have the Japanese to try that out for once), so I can’t make judgements based on that. (And I’m not a good one to ask about Japanese accents anyway, lol.)

I also favor dubs bc of my disability. I love hearing the Japanese but it can be hard for me to follow sometimes, and even english alone without captions I can struggle with (please fix this, CR!!! Grr), so I feel you there.

Also not sure which characters you had in mind with this ask (other than the ones you specifically mentioned). Since kuro has so many, I guess I’ll just focus on a few. I want to make clear I am American and Latine, so I am not an expert on British regional accents by any stretch, or the historical accents of the Victorian period, so I’ll just do my best. Some may be partly inspired by how the characters are written in Japanese, since there’s a bit more… complexity to the Japanese language in regards to things like formality, rudeness, etc, that may not convert into English when translated in writing.

This is a long post so I’ll use a readmore to keep it a bit less chaotic. Below the break I’ve broken down my hypotheses on how some of the major players might talk:

Sebastian

As a high-ranking servant who regularly interacts with the nobility, Sebastian would have a high-class accent, and it is reflected in how his Japanese (and even his English) is written. It is a fairly neutral, polite manner of speaking. I’m sure the Victorians probably had a term for this accent (a high-class servant accent), but if they did, I don’t know it lol.

Ciel

Most nobles like him would be educated in a public school like Weston, like his father was, and those schools taught a standard accent that often varied slightly from school to school. So everyone who went to Weston would have a similar manner of speech. Ciel has been “home schooled” his entire life, aside from a short time at Weston for the investigation, so his accent might have been slightly different than his father’s. Nevertheless, especially under Sebastian’s tutelage, he would have learned how to speak properly (if he didn’t already). Still, unless Sebastian intentionally had him learn the Weston/public school accent, anyone who speaks to him would know he did not go to school, but was taught by tutors/governesses instead.

Bard

Yes, Bard is American despite his dub accent. We don’t know where he’s from exactly, but we can assume it was probably somewhere west of the Mississippi (that’s about 1/3 of the way west if you’re looking at the US map, going east to West, if you’re not familiar with our Geography).

I say that bc the river was the first real demarcation of the frontier. It’s likely he was living somewhere like Texas or Oklahoma. Ofc where he’s from would affect his accent, but I imagine it as a kind of cross between a more neutral southern midwestern accent (“no accent”) and a subtle Texas or OK one. Which that’s hard to explain unless you really know regional US accents, bc most of Texas doesn’t sound like most people think it does. The accents really change depending on what part of the state you’re in, since it’s such a big place. But basically not too heavy an accent but a bit lazy, definitely coarse and brutish since he was a soldier and a farmer. Lots of slang and not big on politeness. (Which he definitely is in Japanese.)

Mey Rin

She’s interesting because she’s one of the few characters who has a couple different ways of speaking. She has her “maid” voice and her “assassin” voice. The first one stutters a lot and uses imperfect grammar, as reflected in the English translation when she repeats things, like “I’m not one to talk badly about my betters, I am.” The second does not have this quirk. Not sure if the first is meant as an affectation as part of her idea of what a maid is, or if she just has such a divide he her personality/personas that she speaks differently when she’s wielding a gun. Since that wasn’t really mentioned in her subarc, I doubt we’ll get an explanation. We do know she was likely a child of immigrants from China, but not whether she was born there or in England before she was orphaned. But it is unlikely she has any hint of a Chinese accent since she was orphaned so young. She definitely has more of a working class accent, especially when compared to someone like Sebastian.

Finny

I had momentarily forgotten that Finny didn’t speak English when he first came to the manor. It’s likely that he would have had some kind of German accent, but I expect that Sebastian would have drilled it out of him, considering how strict he was with Sieglinde and Wolf, and Ciel didn’t blink an eye.

Finny’s accent in English never struck me as particularly high class, either in the manga or anime, but in one of the recent chapters, Theo makes a point to compliment his “upper-class accent.” It does seem highly probable that Sebastian played a hand in how he speaks, since he probably was the one who taught him English.

However, the fact that it came up in this sub arc could indicate his way of speaking is significant, somehow tying into what’s going on with Undertaker and the orphanage. Either way, his accent is apparently closer to Ciel than Mey.

Snake

Snake is tricky, because he almost never speaks as himself (I’m still not 100% sure what pronoun he would use for himself in Japanese, and even he doesn’t seem sure lol). He speaks via his snakes, and they all have different ways of speaking (which I think the dub does a decent job of, personally). So I can’t really say, but for the most part I would probably say his accent(s) would be closer to working-class, but he might have gotten some lessons on speaking from Sebastian, since, as a footman, he would have been expected to speak at a higher-class level than other, below-stairs servants would.

Undertaker

Like Mey, UT has two manners of speaking. He has his “humble old undertaker” accent, which is Cockney-esque (I don’t wanna do a disservice by saying it IS that), definitely a lower class accent. Then he has his “revealed” voice, or how he speaks after he reveals himself on the Campania. I have not read this arc in Japanese so I cannot base this judgement on how this shift is portrayed by Yana, only based on the translation. But it definitely seems to be a higher-class accent than the other one. It’s likely that it’s his “real” accent, while the other is part of his cover persona. However, we don’t know anything about him or his background from when he was alive, or even how old he is. For all we know, that accent could be an affectation too.

Agni & Soma

I know their dub accents annoy a lot of people, since Yana specifically mentions how they don’t have an Indian accent. I expect both of them would speak with a British accent, probably something close to how Ciel speaks, most likely, since Soma would have been educated by tutors and Agni probably was as well, since he came from a very high-caste family. I would expect that if their dub accents has been closer to Yana’s intent, they would sound more like Hakim in the dub of the anime Emma. That’s how I imagine them, anyway.

Sieglinde & Wolfram

I expect both would have German accents when they speak English, especially Wolf. Sieglinde might do a better job of working to improve and lose it, but I don’t think Wolf would, partly because of his animosity toward Sebastian. I like to imagine he sounds like Hans in the English dub of the anime Emma, and I really hope we eventually get the Green Witch Arc animated and dubbed so we can get a hot German English accent 🥺.

Diedrich

Dee, on the other hand, I think would not have a German accent in English, especially not in the present. I think he probably was educated in English before he went to Weston, likely by a private tutor, probably someone British, and then when he went there would have acclimated to the public school assent there. So probably he would sound like Vincent did, but I expect he’d throw in some German every now and then, especially when he gets irritated, lol.

Lau

Lau is originally from China, and his accent (as far as I know?) has never been remarked upon in the manga. We also know nothing about his background except that he rose quickly and at a young age to be head of Quin-Bang. I would assume that he speaks English very well, and the only hint at his origin that I’m aware of in the Japanese is the kanji (character) for the pronoun “I” he uses, though he doesn’t pronounce it as it’s normally done in Japanese nor does he with a Chinese pronunciation. I would take this to mean he probably has little if any hint of a Chinese accent when he speaks English, and since he keeps company with nobles and was able to pass as a doctor, he likely speaks in a high-class accent.

I hope that satisfied, anon. This was a fun and different ask. I apologize I didn’t publish it sooner.

[qtoosh]

decided to make a post explaining some key parts of qsmp for anyone wanting to get into it !!there's definitely some stuff i missed or got wrong so feel free to add. this is part one. part two will come tomorrow.

there is SO much, and i can not possibly explain everything (as i am only a girl) but this is the main things.

MEMBERS

english speakers: wilbur soot, fitmc, philza, jaidenanimations, badboyhalo, foolishgamers, dantdm, and slimecicle

español speakers: luzu, rubius, elmariana, spreen, missasinfonia, roier, vegetta777, y maximus

português speakers: cellbit, felps, forever, pactw, e mikethelink

française speakers: baghera jones, etoiles, antoinedaniel, kameto, et aypierre

THE BEGINNING

8 english speakers and 8 spanish speakers were given tickets to an island, Quesadilla Island or Isla Quesadilla (I believe it is still unsure who sent the tickets)

they were split up into two trains (not by languages, just split). when they arrived, a vcr-like interruption showing a duck popped up and welcomed them to the island, telling them not to press the button that’s on the big wall separating two sides of the island. naturally, they immediately press the button. the duckling returns and tells them they are no longer allowed to leave, so they all start settling in.

QUACKITY

(I am unsure if this lore is still canon, if not i will remove this section) quackity was split into two people (engquackity and espquackity) as a child. these two characters have no relationship despite being two halves of the same person. despite their names, engquackity speaks both english and spanish, and espquackity has not canonically been seen on the server (besides some ominous messages in chat) but he’s…out there somewhere.

THE EGGS

the eggs were abandoned by their dragon mother and taken by the federation to be given to the island members. each egg has two lives.

when it was just the spanish speaking and english speaking streamers, they were given eggs in pairs of two to take care of

original eggs: bobby (dead) - jaiden and roier, chayanne (alive) - phil and missa, dapper (alive) - bad, trump (dead) - dan and maxo, juanaflippa (dead) - slime and mariana, leonarda (alive) - foolish and vegetta, ramón (alive) - fit and spreen, tilín (dead) - quackity (and luzu, who never met tilín)

new eggs were given to the players who showed up after (besides luzu) by the federation

new eggs: tallulah (alive) - wilbur, richarlyson (alive) - the brazilians, pomme (alive) - the french

pomme is the only egg who currently still has two lives.

the eggs are currently being attacked by the code monster (more on this in part two)

canon queer eggs !! (because it’s pride month :p): juana (mtf), tilín (nonbinary), leonardo (genderfluid)

THE FEDERATION

the official host and government-like organization on the island. it was established before the members arrived. their real name is Order.

members: the duckling, cucurucho, multiple faceless workers, cellbit (formerly)

cucurucho (or osito bimbo, or:)

is the representative of the qsmpcensusbureau. they watch over the members, making sure they don’t break rules and they are enjoying the island.

they are portrayed to be looking out for the best of the island members (so, a positive figure) but they attacked cellbit with a chainsaw, and contributed to felps disappearance. it is unknown if there are multiple of them.

they have (had?) a positive relationship with jaiden and roier (heavy on the latter).

the federation can also revive dead eggs, whether they lost both of their lives or only one.

osito often says I hope you enjoy the island. / Disfruta la isla.

[morxty]

Dazai analysis after reading No longer human

English is not my first language and maybe I'm not very good at this, it's my first analysis. :)

In this analysis I compare Dazai with Yozo (the main character of No longer human) to try to deduce the reason for Dazai's behavior.

////

Despite Yozo and Dazai's obvious similarities, such as recurring jokes and gloomy thoughts/outlooks on life, Dazai doesn't seem to exhibit the social anxiety Yozo has, as well as the extreme need to please others.

So I'll use a few things in the book to describe him.

(I am not saying that what I write is the truth, but how I am interpreting it)

On the one hand, he is apparently seen as an extrovert, joker, energetic, shameless, lazy, and obsessed with suicide. While on the other hand he is seen as a cold person without any kind of empathy, moral conscience, manipulative "without feelings", depressive. Being supposedly his true form of being. The only change that can be seen that marked him was the death of Oda, the only person with whom we have seen him have genuine feelings, so he is not a person incapable of feeling. Oda asked Dazai before he died to be "on the side of those who save" so Dazai did, he went to the side of the "good" not necessarily because he wanted to change but because the only person he had connected with he asked, and maybe he held on to this to keep living, but then why does he keep trying to kill himself? I will venture to say that it is simply because he does not find a genuine reason to live, it is not something that has come out of him but an external message.

In my opinion, this is a clear example of Dazai not getting over Oda's death (since he's the only person he ever connected with). It can be seen that for some reason he does not form affective bonds with others unless it is superficial, thus being able to manipulate and replace them. After reading the book, I think this doesn't really mean that Dazai does this out of the simple essence of being a bad person, but because it's what depression combined with trauma does to some people. While we don't know much about his past, just being in a mob at such a young age is a trauma, although it's obvious something happened to him before he was picked up by Mori.

He is a person who has no sense of right or wrong or any kind of morality, allowing him to keep his options open, which gives him more chance in the anime/manga to make "bad" decisions regarding others. If I remember correctly, Yozo (main character of No longer human, on which Dazai is somewhat based) talked about precisely not feeling human, not being able to connect and understand the emotions of others, which led him to live in loneliness and feeling different all his life, I couldn't explain if this is because of depression, or if on the contrary this is a reason why depression develops (not really important here). But I think this fits pretty well with Dazai and why he is this way (in the sense that he betrays everyone regardless of whether they were/are his teammates), because maybe he doesn't feel like he belongs somewhere, so we could essentially describe him as an individualist person.

Regarding Dazai's duality, I don't think any of the two parts he shows are really 100% his complete self, since one is a farce and the other is the crudest form of his depression. He is simply a person who is incapable of understanding others or incapable of feeling connected to anyone because he is traumatized and because he has a tendency, whether consciously or not, to disguise his feelings, which is why he sometimes seems insensitive or incapable of reacting to horrible things. , it could be said that "he doesn't care about anything" at first glance, which is common in depressed people. The only time that something was appreciated regarding his feelings was when he was with Oda in his last moments of life, and frankly, he was seen as a rather lost person; "what should I do?" He asked, that's when Oda told him to be on the side of the good guys. Etc. What I mean by this is that he is capable of having affective ties, I insist a lot on this, I know, but it seems to me that it is something that should be understood.

Dazai is a person without a reason to live who unconsciously clings to some concept; like joining the Port Mafia, Oda, the Agency, or even it can be assumed that also the fact of looking for a person to commit suicide with is.

On the other hand, I think its important to take into account the possible similarities between Yozo and Dazai in terms of toxic behavior towards the people around him. If I understand correctly, Yozo ultimately turned out to be, for whatever reason, a liar and an alcoholic who took advantage of the people around him, being taken in by women in their homes and spending their money. We can't see this in Dazai, but he is seen as a bad partner, since he hands over his tasks to others and doesn't keep his promises, clear proof that he is possibly a rather toxic person.

Did he really change when he left the Port Mafia?

Yes and no. For obvious reasons, the experience in the mafia in full development age as it is from 14 to 18 years old, and the death of the only person who mattered to him is obvious that it would change anyone. He is not a person immune to the things that happen around him.

This is already in the perception of each one but I honestly think that Dazai changed a bit, of course he is still the same person without moral values ​​and etc, that is why he continues doing what he does, because these are behaviors that simply cannot be changed because you decide so, you can simply "repress" or "hide" them, the latter is exactly what he does.

But it is obvious that he has changed when his bandages decreased and he shows himself with a different attitude in front of others. The Port Mafia vs Agency setting is completely different and that would present minimal change to either.

This is already in the perception of each one but I honestly think that Dazai changed a bit, of course he is still the same person without moral values ​​and etc, that is why he continues doing what he does, because these are behaviors that simply cannot be changed because you decide so, you can simply "repress" or "hide" them, the latter is exactly what he does. But it is obvious that he has changed when his bandages decreased and he shows himself with a different attitude in front of others. The Port Mafia vs Agency setting is completely different and that would present minimal change to either.

Although Dazai doesn't seem to have a complacent demeanor like Yozo, he does say things that make him seem kind and then doesn't follow through, like when Chuuya asks him to take him somewhere since he's very weak afterward for using Corruption, Dazai tells him yes, and then leaves him. Or like when he congratulated Akutagawa for getting stronger but didn't apologize for how he treated him, yet he didn't make a bad impression.

He doesn't get over Oda's death;

Oda gave him a reason to be on the Agency, what he is doing is probably just to "finish" that request. If he had accepted Oda's death, Dazai would have committed suicide long ago (his suicide attempts in the middle of the anime being impulsive and recurring acts of his own behavior).

Bandages:

His character designer confirmed that the bandages were drawn to represent Dazai's obsession with suicide. In my case, I prefer to think that it is so, that the bandages are to cover his suicide attempts, but also injuries from the mafia and, (small headcanon) perhaps scars from morphine injections (Yozo injected himself with morphine).

My opinion is that he is a character who avoids suffering at all costs, using both the "good" and "bad" facets to avoid confronting himself and not feel vulnerable. We can see that he seeks to escape at all costs from what he suffers apart from this, with the fact that he drinks too much alcohol. Which in turn could justify his obsession with suicide, since death would mean feeling no more pain.

I feel that Dazai, if we compare him to Yozo, surrounds himself with others and makes changes to avoid himself. Yozo saw no point in eating, and only ate because the others ate and he was there. So perhaps it is more likely that Dazai himself would be incapable of cooking for himself (in one chapter it is seen that he only eats small cans of food), and would do things like change the environment to find something that makes him have desire to live, even if it turns out to be unsuccessful. This leaves us with obvious contradictions such as why he would seek a reason to live if what he wants is to die, because he does not seek death itself, but rather the end of suffering. I would undoubtedly classify him as a character with a very advanced depression, which is what we can see both in the anime and in the author's novels, as well as his addiction to alcohol.

//

I honestly don't really like the type of person he is, but that doesn't really mean he's good or bad in bungo stray dogs or as a character himself. I would really like to see him show his feelings at least once. Although if you ask me, I think he ended up committing suicide at the end of the series.

[rioreeve]

#504

Zach Reeve Sanders is 30 and used to be a video game programmer before the outbreak. He has a twin brother, Eric. He's lived in the Wexley his whole life and his earliest memory is being chased by paparazzi every time his parents took their kids somewhere to spend time together. He's introverted, a bit aloof and grumpy.

Headcanons:

Used to live in loft #904, where the Wells live now, but when his parents and brother moved out, he thought a smaller apartment would be more suitable for him.

Despite his "avoid anyone's attention at all cost" rule, he has been dyeing his hair blue for years.

Has his right ear pierced and usually wears his Mom’s diamond earring or a silver hoop.

Speaking of which, that's the main reason he sneaks out from time to time.

Loves Pet Shop Boys, Hall&Oates, and Queen.

He’s mildly autistic, diagnosed as an adult; always displayed some autistic traits but they had managed to pass under the radar for years.

Never liked watching his parents' movies, but can't explain why.

Misses his favorite computer games and movies a lot.

Can speak six languages and is fluent in four (English, Spanish, Korean, and Japanese, the other two being German and French).

Always wanted to have a dog. When he found a Blue Heeler puppy he brought it to the Wexley building with him. The dog's name's Doom Slayer.

His brother calls him "Rio".

Zach’s nickname’s origin is obviously music-related; he got it from Duran Duran’s album Rio and it was the first cassette he asked his parents to buy him when he got his Walkman. It also means “river” in Spanish, which happens to be Eric’s middle name.

He has a "12/18" tattoo on his ribcage, below his heart, done by Sada Vang for his late friend, Courtney Song.

Supplies:

Powerbanks. Many powerbanks.

Batteries.

Computer parts, old smartphones

Wires & cables.

Tool kit, PC tool kit.

Dog food.

Coffee.

An impressive collection of butterfly knives.

A car in the garage (‘69 Ford Mustang).

[montaners]

was that álvaro rico spotted down at the shoreline of east hamptons main beach? must just be camilo montaner the twenty seven year old model, influencer and heir. whenever i hear sirenas by taburete it reminds me of them. they are known for being argumentative but they make up for that by being determined. they have been living in the hamptons for two days.

basic stats ;

⟶ full name: camilo hernán montaner de luna ⟶ nicknames: no nicknames, absolutely hates being called cam. the only thing he hates more than that is being called milo  –  you might as well just slap him in the face while you’re at it ⟶ three things he likes: finding new vegan recipes, music in spanish, enrique iglesias ⟶ three things he dislikes: people who ask too many questions, dirty fingernails, bad mannerisms ⟶ gender: cis male ⟶ height: 5 ‘ 9 ⟶ age: twenty seven ⟶ birthday: december 5, 1995 ⟶ zodiac: sagittarius sun, aquarius moon, scorpio ascendant ⟶ right handed or left handed: fully ambidextrous ⟶ eye color: baby blue ⟶ hair color: black ⟶ piercings and tattoos: no piercings, no tattoos ⟶ languages spoken: spanish ( native tongue ), italian, and english ⟶ sexuality / romantic orientation: homosexual / homoromantic ⟶ place of birth: barcelona, spain ⟶ last five songs listened to: en esta habitación by libido, no te preocupes por mi by leiva, testa tra le nuvole pt. 1 by alfa, manda una señal by maná, el perdedor by enrique iglesias ft. marco antonio solís ⟶ five aesthetics: jetting off somewhere because you’re bored, stress shopping, light blue eyes gazing into the sunset, getting up at 5 am for a daily morning jog, being the pickiest eater known to mankind ⟶ character inspo: ander muñoz from elite, isak valtersen from skam ( og skam ), brando pacitto from baby

background story ;

camilo was born to britta incanti and lorenzo montaner in barcelona, spain. his mother is an italian model and fashion designer who was miss italy in 1993, and runner up for miss universe in 1994, and his father is owner and heir of hotel and resort chains called montaner ( literally equivalent to hilton hotels ). needless to say, his family on both sides comes from a lot of money, and have pretty much bought into anything you can think of. gas companies, gastronomy business, electric, you name it, his family is somehow involved

camilo, being an only child, grew up with anything materialistic anyone could ever think of. all he had to do was point, and it was being handed to him without any type of questions. he was spoiled, practically born with a golden spoon in his mouth, in the public eye. his family was widely known in europe and also had business’ world wide, which meant he had a rather public life since he could remember

to anyone, his upbringing sounds like a wet dream, and in a way, it kind of was. i say ‘in a way’ because his life isn’t as picture perfect as everyone thinks it is. simply put, his parents were never really present. he grew up with the best help money could buy  –  nannies, butlers, personal chefs, maids, people who worked for his family and treated him like he was the last cup of water in the middle of the desert. he had it all, minus the people who were supposed to love him the most

they missed his birthdays, christmas, important holidays, things that any parent should be present for, they were never around. instead, he was always surrounded by people who were literally paid to care for him. he was never really held as a child, never hugged when he was sad or sick, and because of his rather cold upbringing, this made camilo an equally cold person

due to constantly being in the public eye, he became cynical and calculated. in his eyes, everything was a game. nothing was unattainable to him because of his hefty wallet and no one was genuinely worthy of his time. at least, this is what he grew up thinking

he grew up feeling an insane amount of pressure. despite his parents not being around, they always let him know that what the world thought of them, the idea people had of him, was everything. the way he looked and acted was all that mattered, and carrying this with him since he could remember was a lot to deal with

he quickly became obsessed with his physical appearance. what he wore, down from his shirt to his shoes, how his hair looked, how his skin appeared and his weight especially, became everything for him. camilo would rather die than go out wearing sweats or looking anything less than impeccable  –  he simply had to look his best or he wouldn’t go out at all

his earlier years consisted of traveling a lot. he lived in his mother’s hometown in the amalfi coast in italy for a few years, traveled back and forth to any country his heart desired, and would leave as soon as he grew bored with where he was staying at

by the time he’s fourteen, he decides to move to los angeles to start high school there, mostly so he could better his english, but also because his family had contacts there and he knew a few celebrities

this is how he meets his first ever boyfriend, dani, when he’s sixteen. truth be told, camilo wasn’t a fan of him at first. they were polar opposites and he considered dani to ‘not be at his level’. he doesn’t know how it happens, but he somehow makes his way into camilo’s cold ass heart, and soon enough, they begin to date. dani was someone camilo would have never considered, but he basically falls head over heels for him. he’s the first person who makes camilo feel less cynical, like he doesn’t have to be perfect or do everything so impeccably so. he makes him feel real, like he actually matters to someone and isn’t just a display case for the world to judge. simply put, he makes him feel things he never thought he would feel before, makes him see things from a completely different perspective

unfortunately, this romance is short lived when dani disappears one day, with no warning. camilo tries not to let it get to him, but he’s so hurt by this move, he ends up going to a boarding school in san francisco and finishes high school there, heading back to his hometown, barcelona, two days after his graduation

at this point, his trust issues are at an all time high. he has a very difficult time letting people in and mostly maintains superficial relationships with everyone, without much depth, or any depth at all, really

he basically becomes even more obsessed with his physical appearance, especially when he gets signed to a modeling agency by the time he’s nineteen. to camilo, the way he looks becomes everything to him, up to the point where it becomes unhealthy

he’s modeled for a few brands in the past before, but when he actually gets signed to an agency is when he starts to feel the pressure. being around his peers, for the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel like he’s above them. in fact, he feels inferior to them. some of the names are so big, that the importance of his last name doesn’t mean anything to them. never wanting to be below anyone, he starts working extra hard to make sure he’s on their level, or better than they are

! tws for eating disorders, fainting, hospitals and body dysphoria for the next four bullets, read with caution or skip over this if you’re triggered ! his habits start off so small at first, that he genuinely doesn’t see it as a problem. over exercising is only the beginning, but soon enough, he starts cautiously watching, and counting, the calories of the stuff he eats. when this isn’t proven to be enough, he switches to a vegan diet, and it just escalates from that point on

to be honest, he was never overweight. in fact, doctors would tell him he had to gain some weight in the past, but despite this, he didn’t feel good enough. more so, he felt like he could be better. he became obsessed with any little flaw he would pick out of himself and would work endlessly to fix it, or make it less noticeable. one of his more genuine friends in the modeling industry flat out told him he had a problem, but camilo brushed it aside and kept ‘working’ on himself. by working on himself, i mean practically torturing himself with unhealthy diets and extreme exercise routines

the worst part is that he really didn’t think he had a problem. he struggled with an eating disorder and body dysphoria for over six years, until one day, six months after his twenty sixth birthday, he ends up passing out during a photo shoot. waking up in the hospital, he’s told he has pretty bad malnutrition linked to an eating disorder and is recommended to seek help. at this point, he weighed ninety seven pounds ( almost forty four kilograms )

it’s at this moment that he realizes that he’s not okay. despite not being quite ready to get the help he needs, he ends up checking himself into an inpatient clinic in madrid that specializes in eating disorders and mental health. he’s there for three months and it’s basically hell for him, the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but... he does get better. by a lot. ends up gaining the weight he needs and see’s a nutritionist to work out a ( healthy ) vegan diet for him. after leaving said clinic, he goes back to los angeles to continue working on his modeling career and meet his sponsors. he’s there until december, and afterwards, makes the decision to move to long island in a pent house his parents own, wanting to be far away from anyone he’s ever known and start fresh

headcanons

truth be told, camilo still does struggle a lot with his weight and appearance. he knows better at this point, but it’s still something he deals with on a daily basis. his habits aren’t unhealthy anymore, but he’s a very picky eater. he’s literally the type of person to separate food on his plate and eat it in different sections, one at a time. he will probably never go back to harming himself the way he did for so long, but he still carries that part of his life with him. he has a healthy diet and exercise routine now, but god knows it took him a while to get there

he can be a real pain in the ass when it comes to keeping things clean. i wouldn’t say he’s ocd, but he can be a borderline neat freak. things have to be tidy otherwise he literally can’t sleep

he enjoys drinking alcohol from time to time, but that’s about it. he hates weed because of the munchies and used to chain smoke cigarettes, but thankfully, that’s a habit he’s broken out of. he’s tried coke and dabbled with it back in spain when he was going through everything he was going through because he liked how it takes away your hunger, but he doesn’t really do anything now, claims he’s ‘high off life’

even though he makes it seem like he doesn’t want anyone or is too good for anyone, deep down inside, camilo really wants to be loved. he wants a boyfriend who will turn into his husband, he wants a kid and a house, and he wants an actual future with someone, despite showing anyone who has ever been interested in him romantically the complete opposite ( minus dani rip )

he has a cat he named draco meowfoy, clever twist on his favorite movie and book character, draco malfoy. his cat is one year old and a ragdoll cat, basically the sweetest cat ever, acts more like a dog than anything

he’s a model and an influencer, future heir to the business’ his family owns. he has thirty five million followers on instagram, and an equivalent amount on tiktok and other social media platforms. he has a ton of money besides that, but he makes a very good amount of money on sponsorships ( his favorite ones so far have been brands like adidas and colgate )

when you really get to know him ( which is rare ), he’s goofy. nothing like that ‘i’m better than you’ persona he puts on for the whole world to see. he has an idiot side to him that likes corny jokes and puns, enjoys knitted sweaters and dad jokes

he plays piano, has been playing since he was four years old, but this is a rather hidden talent of his. he’s a huge example of ‘what you see isn’t what you get’ because people tend to meet him and make up their minds on who he is, but the truth is that he has a ton of layers, a ton of hidden parts of himself that very few people, if not no one, really know of

camilo is also a huge example of ‘money doesn’t buy happiness’ because he has anything materialistic any person could ever dream of having, but deep down inside, he’s not genuinely happy. he definitely has depression, but doesn’t take medication for it

he wants to live a relaxed life here, far away from the chaos that was barcelona and the shit show that was los angeles. he wants a place where people don’t really know who he is, somewhere he doesn’t feel pressure to be ‘perfect’

when he does let you in, he’s loyal. he doesn’t believe in cheating on people and will defend you until the end if he considers you a true person and genuinely likes you. if he doesn’t, it’s the complete opposite. he can be a very fake person for the sake of being ‘diplomatic’, but will literally trash talk you if he isn’t a fan of you. he can say everything to your face as well, but prefers to subtweet about you if you’re not someone he’s fond of

he was offered a spot on a reality tv show in spain with other models, living in a mansion and getting into shenanigans, but he turned it down. the show was similar to ‘hype house’ and he feels like he dodged a bullet with that one

he is a huge fan of enrique iglesias, has been to six of his concerts and has personally met him three times. loves him to death, literally man crush monday all day every day

he has the tiniest accent when speaking english. it’s barely noticeable and will become more prominent if he’s really angry, but for the most part, his english is really, really good. he’s fluent in spanish, english and italian, and even though he speaks all three languages perfectly, his preferred language is spanish, and literal thought process is in spanish as well

i’m gonna end this here because this is long as hell, but below is his birthchart for some extra tea!

birthchart ;

[itsyourchoicedevotionals]

Deals In Impossibilities

“…Have faith in God. Truly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says will come to pass, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” Mark 11:22-24ESV

God deals in impossibilities, that’s the way He prefers. Possibilities can be left to you and I.

The English language has three main verb tenses— past, present, future. Our text contains all three verb forms. Most impressive to me is the last verse “ask” present tense; “believe” present tense; “have received” past tense; “will be” future tense. This has to be intimidating to the mind of one needing faith to receive healing. How can we have faith to receive out the future what we need in the present?

Kenneth Hagin, the father of the ‘word of faith movement’ within the church had quite a story of faith. Born premature at nearly a pound, he wasn’t expected to live. Despite predictions Hagin survived to nearly 18 years of age, barely able to see to read as the day hours waned, paralyzed waist down, internal organs placed totally incorrectly inside his body. Even the fact he survived at all was a total miracle. Doctors had told his family from day one, he couldn’t survive.

Somewhere around age fifteen, Hagin got a hold of our text scripture. He wanted to understand how the scripture worked. Over the next sixteen to eighteen months he meditated upon; prayed about; wrestled with; and finally totally believed the text meant he was healed — as he lay there, paralyzed in the bed.

Holy Spirit spoke into Haggis’s heart one day— ‘So you think you’re healed?’ Hagin — ‘Yes I am healed.’ Holy Spirit — ‘What are you doing in bed? Healed people have been out of bed for hours.’

Hagin struggled to force his paralyzed legs off of the bed. Hanging onto the bedstead for dear life, he managed to get his feet onto the floor. Pins and needles hit his legs, then his entire body. Every organ became new aligning correctly. Feet and legs gained strength. What he had received fully in his heart, suddenly manifested in his reality. From that day forward Hagin until the age of 86 years of age preached the truth of Mark 11:22-25.

The story about Brother Hagin, and even Oral Roberts both have a lot of relevance to me. I believe I’m healed. Daily I declare my healing. Meanwhile, illness has refused to leave my body since October 27. Doctors have failed to come up with solid answers, kill the infection, etc.

Now I’m studying our text, praying over it, wrestling with it. Healing has to become a reality in my body to complete the prophecy God gave me in 2000. Satan has been fighting me, but he’ll not win— Jesus is Lord.

What do you have to have? The answer lies in our text. Believing we have today is primary. Will you join me in seeking God for what you’ve been needing? We may have to walk against the local church. But desperate people will do desperate things. It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Holy God have we walked the wrong way? Are we in need of becoming totally fanatical in our faith? Help us Lord God to cast aside every concern or fear and walk in the way of faith necessary for your Bride, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

by Debbie Veilleux Copyright 2023 You have my permission to repost this devotional for others. Please keep my name with this devotional, as author. Thank you.

[flowerandblood]

The Prince and The Fox

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: sexual abuse, violence, trauma, panic attack ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood! Story Music Playlist. Song used in this chapter: Feuer Frei! (Rammstein)

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She wasn't sure how they became friends. Before she met him she played often with Helaena, they lived in the neighbourhood, and there wasn't much of an age difference between them. They often visited each other to play with their dolls, while her brothers existed for her somewhere in the back, busy with their serious, boyish affairs unavailable to girls.

One day when their mother called Helaena home she was sitting on a blanket on the grass in their garden, pretending that her teddy rabbit had just been drinking tea from her pink plastic cup, when their whole elaborately choreographed scene was destroyed by a dog bumping into her and licking her.

"Vhagar! No! Bad dog!" She heard the growl of a young boy, running up to them and grabbing his happy, shiny labrador with big eyes, who just licked her face, panting loudly, pulling her by the collar, trying to drag her away.

She giggled, wiping her face, and it was only when she looked at him that she noticed a large white bandage on the left side of his face, covering his entire eye and part of his cheek, taped up with plasters. She blinked, curious, and cocked her head.

"What happened to you?" She asked lightly, and he threw her an angry, murderous look, tightening his lips and furrowing his brow.

"Fuck off." He hissed, and she turned all red, close to tears, devastated that he had used such ugly, vulgar words towards her that her parents had forbidden her to use, shouting at him that he wasn't allowed to talk like that, that she didn't like him and for him to go away.

This is exactly what he did, dragging his dog behind him with difficulty, and she took her rabbit and ran to her house across the street, no longer waiting for Helaena to return, distraught.

Her father tried hard to get anything out of her, but he understood little of her loud sobbing and babbling, she could see nothing through her tears, she stood and stammered out mere fragments of sentences from which her parent had by some miracle put together a whole. Her father sighed heavily, running his hand over his face.

"Listen. Helaena's brother, I think his name is Aemond, had a very serious accident. I was told about it by his mother when I met her in the supermarket recently, the whole family is going through a lot. He will have to wear an artificial eye and will be left with a big scar. He feels very bad about it and that is why he is behaving like this. Your question was very tactless." He said finally.

She felt a squeeze in her heart and burst out sobbing even louder, this time because she had offended him, that surely this boy now hated her when she wanted everyone to like her.

"− I didn't − after all − uh − I didn't mean to − I just −" She mumbled in despair, not knowing herself what she wanted to say, breathing hard, almost choking from her sobs, her face all red, she was hot with emotion.

"Come here." Her father said to her, so she walked towards him. He embraced her and stroked her head, saying that she should ask her mother to help her bake cakes for him and bring them to him, wishing him a speedy recovery and apologising so they would both feel better.

She decided that this was indeed a good idea and did exactly that.

The next day she knocked on their front door standing with a box of cakes and was opened by their mother, a beautiful, long-haired woman with a warm smile, she was wearing a thick green jumper.

"Good morning, dear, Helaena is just in ballet class." She said to her in a soft, calm voice, and she shook her head.

"No, ma'am, I've come to see Aemond, I've baked cakes for him and I want to wish him quick recovery." She recited with difficulty what her mother had told her to say, hoping she hadn't forgotten anything, waiting with a pounding heart for a response.

The woman smiled broadly with some kind of gratitude and called out loudly to her son asking him to come downstairs, saying he had a visitor.

Her son came down reluctantly, furrowing his brow, having no idea who might want to see him and when he spotted her he immediately pressed his lips together, furious.

He approached his mother, looking at her distrustfully, and she swallowed loudly feeling a tightening in her throat and tears of shame gathering in her eyes again.

"I'm so sorry for asking you about it at the time, in the sense of what happened to you and that I upset you and that you were sad and that I yelled at you afterwards because I was sad too and − and −" She mused, forgetting for a moment what she was getting at in that sentence, swallowing her saliva loudly and suddenly remembering. "− and − and I brought you cakes that I baked with the help of my mother to wish you a speedy recovery."

She said quickly and held out a cardboard box tied with a ribbon in front of her. Aemond looked uncertainly at his mother, who nodded at him to accept the gift. He did not look at her as he reached out for the package and murmured under his breath, nodding. His mother sighed quietly.

"What should you say now?" She asked him expectantly, and he pressed his lower lip together, looking somewhere sideways, discouraged.

"Thank you." He muttered, turned and headed up the stairs.

"Goodbye." She said quickly, turning and running towards her house, feeling relieved that now she had put things right and now he would surely like her a lot.

She was wrong.

When she came to their house to see Helaena, he immediately locked himself in his room. When they passed each other at primary school he did not respond to her greeting by pretending not to see her even though they were neighbours.

When their parents met each other in the supermarket and started talking to each other, he would approach the shelves and pretend to look at some products, doing everything he could not to talk to her.

He never spoke to her in a bad way again, never shouted at her again, but simply pretended that she didn't exist.

Everything changed when they went to high school and it turned out they would be in the same class. They would then get on and off at the same bus stop, but instead of talking to her he preferred to put his earphones in his ears and browse through the apps on his phone, pretending not to see her.

She tried to talk to him, but he shunned her, treating her like air. She had the painful feeling that from that moment, from the day she asked him the wrong question, she was already crossed out as a person in his eyes.

And then their literary history teacher gave them a homework exercise to do in pairs. Assigning a person to each, when he looked at her he waved his hand as if realising something.

"Ah, Evans, you and Targaryen live nearby, it will be easier for you to work. Next couple −" He said, and she froze, looking at him over her shoulder, his eye wide open, pointed in her direction, he was playing with his pen between his fingers, his lips clenched into a thin line.

He was furious.

She swallowed loudly feeling a tightness in her throat and turned back towards the board, feeling only the loud pounding of her heart.

She ran after him off the bus, seeing him walking towards his house with his backpack thrown over one shoulder, the hood of his dark sweatshirt pulled over his head, earphones in his ears. She grabbed his sleeve to make him stop, and he flinched and looked back, surprised.

"Wait, can we talk?" She asked, breathing fast, and he furrowed his brow, taking the earpiece out of his ear, she could hear some loud heavy metal music coming from it and recognized the song Feuer Frei! by Rammstein.

"What?"

She blinked, understanding that he hadn't heard completely what she'd said. She grunted quietly, letting him go, looking at him expectantly.

"I asked if we could talk."

He looked ahead, letting the air out loudly through his nose with impatience, pulling the other earpiece from his ear, looking everywhere but at her. She guessed he wouldn't say anything, so she started quickly, not wanting to irritate him unnecessarily.

"I know you don't like me and I promise not to annoy you with anything. Let's just go to your place or mine, do this homework and get it over with. Okay?" She asked in a trembling voice and he licked his lips, indecision and frustration in his eyes, something was going on in his mind that she didn't understand completely.

He snorted, shrugging his shoulders and nodded at her.

"Come."

They entered his house greeted by the smell of dinner just being cooked. Their mother welcomed her presence in the company of her son with joy and surprise.

"Will you eat something? The meatballs in sauce are warm and ready." She said warmly, hoping they would stay down, guessing that they were both hungry after many hours of lessons.

She wished he would agree, feeling a burbling in her stomach.

"No. We're going to go do our homework." He said in a low, slightly hoarse voice. He pulled off his shoes, slipped the hood off his head and walked up the stairs without looking at her.

He walked into his room, throwing the clothes and books lying on the floor into the wardrobe, clearly wanting to do a quick tidy up, his whole walls covered with posters of various bands, Rammstein, Electric Light Orchestra, Deep Purple, Guns N' Roses, Led Zeppelin, his bookshelves heaving with books.

"Sit." He said lowly, pointing to the chair he'd set up by his desk, himself sitting down in a comfortable high-backed leather player's chair, spreading out on it comfortably.

She walked over to him, pulling her pastel soft backpack off her back, pulling out her notebook and the book they had just reviewed.

The Little Prince.

She felt that he was looking at her expectantly, so she opened her notebook in which she had written down the exact assignment the teacher had given them. She decided to read it aloud so they could reflect on it together.

"The Little Prince is a metaphorical story. Talk together about a few scenes from the book that moved you most and compare your thoughts, writing down similarities and differences. Analyse at least two scenes in this way."

She glanced at him, tightening her lips, feeling her heart pounding hard. For some reason she was terrified, he was sitting next to her, resting his elbows on his desk, leaning forward, seeming even bigger and taller to her than usual.

She felt strange thinking that he smelled nice, that he used some ordinary, cheap men's perfume.

He sniffed with his nose, not even looking at her, taking a pen in his hand.

"Have you read this book?" She asked, wanting to make sure he knew what they were going to talk about. He threw her a look like he thought she was an idiot.

"Do you have any more stupid questions, or can we get started?" He asked lowly, and she pressed her lips together, humiliated, feeling for some reason that she wanted to cry.

She felt like asking why he couldn't forgive her at last, but decided it was pointless, that he obviously didn't like her because he had such a whim.

She shook her head and he hummed, taking her copy of The Little Prince in his hand and began looking through it.

"Which scene do you want to talk about?" He asked coldly, dispassionately, and she swallowed loudly.

"About the Little Prince and the Fox." She said quietly, feeling him give her a brief glance.

He grunted under his breath, apparently agreeing with her choice, waiting for her elaboration on the matter. She swallowed with difficulty, licking her lips.

"What moved me most was how true this scene is. That the greatest enemy of friendship, or any close relationship, is haste. That only by respecting someone's barriers, only by approaching someone slowly and with understanding, can you really look at them from a distance.

By taming someone, by making that person grow attached to you, you take partial responsibility for that person's feelings, for making them trust you enough to believe that you won't intentionally hurt them with your behaviour. Until we really get to know someone we are just a crowd of people passing each other on the street."

She said in a trembling voice, feeling for some reason tears under her eyelids and a tightness in her throat, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip began to tremble, she played with the material of her white daisy dress in a nervous gesture.

She felt him watching her, an awkward silence fell between them.

She couldn't look at him.

She thought he was going to say something cruel, that he was going to tell her to stop wailing, but he said nothing. After a while he spoke up.

"I see this scene differently. They're both moving towards each other because they're determined to do so. They are both going their separate ways. There is a balance. The Little Prince doesn't force the Fox to approach him, just as the Fox doesn't force the Little Prince to approach him. They do it of their own free will. They tame themselves because that's the decision they made. You can't tame someone who doesn't want it." He said lowly, and she looked up at him feeling tears begin to run down her face.

Was he talking about himself?

Was she the Fox who wanted to tame him even though he didn't want it?

"I'm sorry." It burst out of her chest before she had time to think about what she was doing.

He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, clenching his hands lying on the desk into fists, his nostrils moving restlessly in accelerated breathing.

She covered her face with her hand, embarrassed that she just couldn't stop crying, feeling pain in her heart and feeling sorry for herself that she just wasn't able to give him a break, that she kept seeking his attention and interest when he just clearly wanted her to leave him alone.

She couldn't bear the thought that she wasn't liked by every man she knew.

She felt ashamed at the thought that she had been so selfish.

"I can't stand that you don't want to talk to me. That you don't like me, that you pretend not to see me. I think it's driving me crazy and you're right to think that I'm an attention-seeking girl. I'm ashamed and I apologise to you for that because it's not your problem. I promise I'll stop." She said between laboured breaths, shrugging her shoulders, lowering her gaze.

He just looked at her.

"You exaggerate everything too much. You care too much." He said finally, his voice calmer as was his gaze.

She saw him fidgeting involuntarily with his fingers in a nervous gesture, the cuticles around his fingernails peeled and red, they must have caused him pain, but he plucked them nonetheless.

"Stop." She whispered and placed her hand over his, his fingers froze in mid-motion. She heard him swallow loudly, completely taken aback, his healthy eye open wide, his whole body concentrated. She stroked his palms with her thumb, and he didn't push her away.

"I'll leave you alone." She said softly and took her hand away, not believing she had dared to do so, and he just nodded and grunted, looking in her book for the quote he wanted to talk about.

They wrote down silently next to each other what they had talked about, and when they had finished she took her books, packed up and left without saying goodbye to him.

She no longer sought his gaze when he stood next to her at the bus stop, when he sat behind her in class, when she passed him in the school corridor. She realised that she had been conceited and vain in thinking that she would make him like her. She thought there was nothing wrong with someone not fancying her, not wanting to talk to her.

She had to get over it.

She attended extra volleyball classes, loved this sport and had good results at inter-school competitions. The captain of the men's team was Cregan Stark, a tall, well-built, funny black-haired boy who caught her eye from the start.

He would occasionally wink at her from afar seeing her gaze, and she would blush, lowering her eyes.

They were good mates, chatting sometimes during breaks and laughing. Cregan often approached her between classes, throwing in any topic, sometimes accompanied by his colleagues who were also fond of her. She felt butterflies in her stomach when he invited her to a house party that Aegon was organising.

She knew that Aemond would certainly be home at that time, but she figured that he would lock himself in his room and not go downstairs to them anyway, so she readily agreed, glad to see Helaena there as well.

She dressed in her favourite suede black dress reaching mid-thigh with a boat neckline, not revealing her breasts but showing her shoulders, and she wore her favourite shiny black boots. She let her hair down, deciding that she looked the prettiest this way, and literally ran out of the house when she heard a knock on the door.

She and Cregan hugged each other as if they were friends and moved arm-in-arm across the street hearing the loud music in the distance. When they entered she saw a crowd of people, most were her friends from the estate, so she greeted everyone around her, one of the guests handed her a cup with probably the cheapest wine possible.

She took a sip, glancing at Cregan and he winked at her as he always did, this time embracing her, pulling her close.

She felt the heat in her lower abdomen and the flush in her cheeks.

For most of the time they sat together on the couch, talking about everything and nothing, she saw no one around him but him, looking into his big dark eyes as if enchanted. She swallowed loudly when she felt his hand on her thigh, trailing up and down, and pressed her lips together, unsure if she liked it or not.

However, she didn't reject his hand, not wanting to offend him, some part of her happy that he reciprocated her interest, that he liked her too, that he found her attractive too.

"Shall we go to the garden?" He asked loud enough for her to hear him, and she nodded with a smile, feeling her own heart beating fast, happy that he wanted to be alone with her.

They walked out into the garden through the kitchen, through a back entrance she knew very well, on the way she felt him grasp her hand in his, she had a feeling her heart would leap out of her chest. They sat down on the terrace bench, he embraced her and hugged her close, and she snuggled into his chest.

She wondered with a blush on her cheeks if he would want to kiss her.

She swallowed loudly and a shudder went through her as, from her shoulder, his hand slowly began to move up to her neck, slipped under the material of her dress and touched her bare breast. She squeezed his wrist, terrified.

"N-no." She mumbled, but instead of stopping, he tightened his fingers on her flesh.

"No, stop." She said terrified, aggressively pulling at his hand, feeling tears in her eyes, cold sweat on the back of her neck, her whole body screaming for him to let her go, wanting to run away, but he wouldn't release her.

"Didn't you hear?" She heard a firm, low voice beside her, and Cregan jumped away from her suddenly, rising from the bench.

Aemond stared at him with his lips tightened, an expression of disgust on his face, his healthy eye wide open, his hands clenched into fists.

"Don't you fucking understand what 'no' means?" He asked him again, louder this time, furious.

She was just sitting and shaking, breathing hard, looking down at her shoes, tear after tear running down her cheeks, she was unable to move or get anything out.

Cregan grunted back.

"Fuck off." He growled, wanting to get past him, but Aemond grabbed him by his shirt and pressed him against the door frame with all his strength.

She stood up quickly, terrified, and covered her mouth when Cregan hit him on the forehead with his head and he took a few steps backwards, Aemond's fist hit his face in return, Cregan half-curled and coughed. They moved away from each other, panting heavily.

"Fucking bastard." He hissed, holding his red cheek with his hand and walked back out into his house, loud music, screams, laughter and conversations of people inside around them.

She sat down on the ground, feeling her whole body shaking, clenching her eyes shut, a strange, high-pitched sound and a sob came from her throat as it finally dawned on her mind what had actually happened.

That he touched her in a way that made her uncomfortable and made her unable to breathe, that she had asked him to stop and he hadn't, how bad it made her feel, how frightening and humiliating it was.

She felt so dirty.

She wasn't sure if what came out of her mouth could be called crying, she felt like she was whimpering and howling, holding her hand to her mouth as if trying to shield herself from what was happening, to no avail.

She heard the rustling of the grass beneath his feet, she felt the gentle touch of his large, warm hand on her back, casual, tender, friendly, comforting.

She snuggled into his black sweatshirt and cried out loud, disappointed, distraught and devastated that she had trusted him, that she had believed him and he did something like this to her.

Why?

Was it because she didn't push him away when he touched her thigh, that she went out with him alone?

Did he think that was what she wanted?

"Shall I go and find Helaena?" He asked in a trembling voice clearly not knowing what to do, how to help her, horrified by what he had seen and her condition. She shook her head quickly, feeling ashamed, she didn't want anyone to know.

She heard him swallow loudly.

"If you want I'll go with you to his parents tomorrow. I'll tell them what I saw. He's been groping you all evening." He said low with some kind of tension, and she froze, drawing in the air loudly at the thought that he must have come downstairs, that he must have seen them as they sat on the sofa, watched them.

Follow them out.

She wondered if he had done it to make sure he wouldn't do anything to her against her will.

It was her fault.

She did not push him away when he touched her thigh.

She went off with him herself.

"No. They won't believe me. He'll say I wanted it myself." She mumbled in a trembling, weak voice between one shattered breath and another.

She could feel his heart pounding hard, that he was nervous too, that he didn't know what he should do. He put his arm around her in a friendly manner, feeling subconsciously that she needed it, that she was terrified.

They both stood up quickly when they heard some girls come out for a cigarette. They raised their eyebrows, looking at them with amusement, one of them waved at them.

"Hey, Cyclops, do you have a girlfriend now?" She asked, the second girl laughed out loud, the third looked at the others disapprovingly, lowering her gaze, pretending she hadn't heard this.

"Fuck off, you stupid bitch!" She growled at her so loudly and with such fury that the girl froze, it seemed to her that she had never called anyone that out loud before in her life.

In a frenzy of desperation, anger and humiliation, she pulled her boots off her feet and, one by one, started throwing them at them until all three of them fled inside the house screaming that she was insane.

"Fuck, calm down! Jesus." He called out to her in shock, grabbing her by her arm. She raised her eyes at him, breathing loudly, his gaze softening a bit.

"Do you want to go home?" He asked lowly, almost indifferently, and she nodded, feeling that she wanted to cry again at the thought of Cregan's touch on her chest.

His hand tightened on her bare breast, refusing to let her go.

An unpleasant shiver ran through her, she felt like she was going to vomit.

First, though, she had to find her shoes, one of which had ended up in the bushes, the other behind their barbecue, all dirty from the coals. She put them on anyway, she was already indifferent to everything.

He didn't even ask if she wanted him to walk her away.

He just followed her.

On the way out they came across Cregan and his mates smoking a cigarette on the road, some of his friends whistling at them, laughing out loud.

"Are you guys going to fuck?" He called from a distance in amusement, she felt that her whole body was shaking, that she was afraid of them and she thanked God that he had gone with her, that he had not left her alone.

She wondered if this was what he experienced all the time at school.

Humiliation.

He stood with her in front of her door with his hands tucked into his black trousers, his face turned in profile.

She knew she shouldn't do this, but she needed it.

She walked up to him and hugged her face to his sweatshirt, standing in front of him like that. She could feel his warm breath on the top of her head, she knew he was looking at her.

She swallowed loudly as she felt his forehead pressed against her hair, he let out a loud breath, something in his voice that she could call sympathy.

"Try not to think about it. If you change your mind and want to go to his parents, I'll go with you. Hm?" He asked lowly, and she nodded.

"Are you going to keep seeing him?" He asked coolly after a moment, and she shook her head, feeling that it made her sick at the thought.

"Good." He muttered, raising his head. She pulled away from him and looked at him, swallowing loudly.

"Gonna give you my phone number. In case you decide to do it." He added quickly, wanting to make sure she didn't understand his proposal ambiguously. She nodded her head.

He dictated a string of numbers to her, which she typed into her phone and added him to her contacts under the name 'Prince'. He saw this and lifted his gaze to her, but made no comment.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence.

"I'm sorry." He said finally. She nodded her head in understanding.

"Thank you for everything. That you… you know. Have a good night." She said softly, without looking at him anymore, and disappeared behind the front door of her house.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

[gotshadowbanned-feralfungii]

Im still salty about how french immersion was handled in my school. Like they actively prevented us from learning english the way all the other kids did, then in highschool they shoved us into the same classes as those English kids and were like "wait why are all of these french immersion students failing english, they're supposed to be the "smart" class," like what did you expect????? Did you think we'd absorb english grammar through osmosis? We were literally forbidden from engaging in anything that wasnt french for eight hours a day five days a week. We were very deliberately not taught english grammar rules. My ninth grade english teacher had a fit when she realized how little we knew and she dedicated like two entire classes to trying to catch up the FI students and even then most of the FI students only barely managed not to fail. Almost every student who came close to failing english was a french immersion student.

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Soonyoung: Imperfect (Part Three)

Characters: Soonyoung x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angsty-ish???, lotta talk of jealousy so if you don’t like that maybe don’t read this

Word count: 1,377

Summary: Soonyoung has always been desperate to find his mate, often going out into town at night to fill the void of imprinting that he craves so much. Then suddenly, you (quite literally) appear in front of him. He’d always dreamed and fantasized about what having his mate would be like, but the reality is nothing like he expected.

a/n: things in bold are in english and whenever soonyoung says reader’s name it’s meant to be reader’s surname (these are going to be reoccurring authors notes lmao)

Previous | Next | Imperfect Masterlist

Rain droplets fell from the hair hanging in his eyes down his nose. Despite the weather, Soonyoung stayed crouched in the woods outside Hanbin’s house. He stared up at a window with a light in it that he just knew was your room. He knew you were up there right now and he could hear your voice but he had no idea what you were saying.

He heard footsteps coming closer, but he sensed it was someone he knew.

“Relationship troubles?” Hanbin asked as he crouched beside Soonyoung.

He let out a deep sigh, “You have no idea.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” he offered.

Soonyoung glanced over at the other alpha and contemplated. Would Hanbin judge him? Maybe not. He had to understand what it’s like to be lonely, right? Sure, he had Jimin now but he didn’t at one point.

“I would...sleep around a lot,” Soonyoung finally admitted. He looked away, feeling ashamed even though he knew it wasn’t anything to feel bad about. It wasn’t like he cheated on you. “Joshua tricked me into telling _____ and she got upset. I understand why, but it’s not my fault! I was lonely and I’ve been around for a while. I had no idea if I’d ever find my mate anytime soon! But...she’s still upset and I want to fix it. I just don’t know how because I can’t really explain myself. We can’t understand each other.”

Hanbin took this all in and let out a long breath, nodding slowly, “Yeah, that’s quite the predicament. ...Well, I can tell you that while ______ is quite stubborn like Kyung, she’s a little easier to come around. And I think deep down, she also knows it’s not your fault. She might just need some time to process all of this.”

“How do you know all of this, Hanbin?” he wondered. “You can’t talk to her well either, can you?”

“We both know little bits of each others language, but Rika is our main source of communication. Before her, it was mostly the twins. Before that, we had quite a few of the pack who could speak multiple languages. _____ even had someone else she was close to other than Kyung and Jiung.”

“Really? Who? We never heard much about the rest of your pack other than Minho.”

“His name was Luka. He came over here from Australia, so him and _____ immediately hit it off. She was still shy because she always is, but she seemed comfortable with him. But he went out one night and never came back.”

“They weren’t...together, were they?” Soonyoung asked slowly.

Hanbin chuckled, “So you know the jealousy she feels.”

While Soonyoung pouted and blushed, Hanbin shook his head, “But no, there was nothing like that. Actually, we thought somehow fate was going to make her and Kyung imprint on each other after a while -- we would’ve thought Jiung as well but he already had Chanseong. She’s just always been close with the twins because they were who rescued her from her old life. She had nobody. She lived in the woods as a wolf all alone. Then along came two people just like her and they gained her trust and brought her somewhere where she couldn’t speak to anybody. Obviously, she was scared and overwhelmed. And since she was one of the most recent additions to the pack, she knows the least Korean -- well, now she’s the only one not fluent. But it’s difficult to learn a new language.”

“So she relies on Rika now?”

Hanbin nodded, “They’re...sort of getting closer. _____ fell into a deep depression after what happened with Kyung so she left for a while. She came back and just stayed in her room until today.”

Oh yeah, Hanbin still thought Kyung was dead. Though, they must’ve smelled Kyung’s scent on her, so maybe they knew she wasn’t?

‘If _____ didn’t tell them anything, then it’s not your place either,’ Soonyoung told himself. He decided to not bring it up.

“Well I need to know English by yesterday,” Soonyoung said in a tired voice. “I just want to be able to talk to her. I want her to feel safe and comfortable with me, too. What am I supposed to do?”

“You’ll figure out something that works,” Hanbin promised with a warm smile and a hand on the alpha’s shoulder. “For now, she needs some time to think.”

-

You ignored the knocking. You knew it was Rika and you knew she was going to come in no matter what. 

“So,” she began when she swung your bedroom door open and saw you grumbling to yourself while you finally unpacked from your trip home, “care to explain?”

The only thing Rika had really caught when you’d burst into the house in anger was you tossing an annoyed, “Oh yeah, Kyung’s alive by the way,” over your shoulder before storming up the stairs. Baekhan had seen the memories of what had happened, and while he didn’t understand what the fight between you and Soonyoung was about, he saw Kyung and immediately perked up before asking everyone, ‘Kyung’s alive?’

“Soonyoung told me he fucked other people!” you burst.

Rika’s eyes widened and she blinked a few times in silence before slowly saying, “I’m sorry, _____, can you just...backtrack for a second?”

So then you had to go and explain your day. You spotted Hansol in town, you followed him home, you found Kyung, you imprinted, and then Soonyoung’s confession. It was a long and quickly-babbled story that you weren’t even sure Rika kept up with but she was listening and nodding along nonetheless.

You knew the important thing here to the pack was that Kyung was alive and well and happily mated with Hansol. However, Rika knew that you problem was what happened with Soonyoung, so instead of pressing about details on Kyung, she focused on what you wanted to get off your chest.

“Did he give any other context?” she asked calmly.

“Hansol said it was an accident that he blurted it like that but he said it’s still true,” you told her. “He said it was before he knew me but-- Rika he went out last night.”

“Oh...” her eyes widened again. “So...he did this often?”

“Yes!”

“Huh...” Rika trailed off and looked away, unsure of what to say for advice.

But you continued with a sigh, “I know I shouldn’t be mad. He didn’t even know I existed, and I mean, he’s an alpha; he’s probably been around for a while, right? Maybe he’s lonely... I don’t know! But I just...am! God, I’m so-- So--!”

“Jealous?” Rika offered.

You let out a defeated sigh, slumping a little bit, “Yeah...”

“That’s okay,” she told you, putting a comforting hand on your back -- you almost forgot how small her hands were but it felt like a child trying to comfort you. “You’re a werewolf, _____. Sometimes instinct overrides your brain. Of course you’ll feel jealous that your mate has been sleeping around. I’m sure Soonyoung understands, too. He’d probably be jealous if it were the other way around. Besides, in a weird way, jealousy just means you care.”

“I guess so...” you mumbled.

“It’s okay if you need time. You’ll get over this, I promise,” she told you, trying to look into your eyes. "Everything will be okay. Okay?”

You looked back into her eyes for a moment and you felt some of your anxiety melt away. Rika seemed very sure of what she promised.

“Okay,” you finally nodded once.

“Good,” she grinned before she stood from your bed. “Dinner will be ready soon, by the way -- sorry it’s so late tonight. If you need anything though, just shout. Oh! And if you decide to...go out, just let someone know.”

And then she left your room, closing the door behind her.

Go out? 

Your head turned to the window. You were on the second story so you couldn’t see Soonyoung outside, but you knew he was out there. You just sensed it. And your instincts were telling you to go outside. Go see him. It didn’t matter if you couldn’t talk to him. You could somehow communicate with him, right? Maybe?

...

You shook your head and went back to unpacking.