#endless reblogs

[endless-ineffabilities]

Even more notes in the margins...

I do know about Emma's pronouns, but I overlooked them here. Thanks to those who pointed it out! All better now 💛

For part 12, if yous have any holiday shenanigans you'd want the cast to get into, l'm all ears. For instance, a silly round of spin the bottle, it lands on darling and she is dared to kiss the most handsome one in the circle? 😂 A cheeseball moment, but fuck it, the tension 🤌

Hmm, what else? Oh, right. The Matty scene. That got the Ewan girlies reeaaal good.

chemical override (11)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: after a lil bit of a break, chem ov has returned! More of the drama, the yearning, and the tension is served here, for your pleasure <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Following the reader's unfortunate accident, tensions run high between the two men vying for her heart. The cast get together to celebrate Ewan's birthday, and things go exactly as you would expect. And then some.

Ewan has never been the most active in the cast group chat. It does amuse him some, especially when Tom and Rhys get into those selfie battles of theirs, when all throughout the day, the chat would be flooded with deliberately posed pictures of the two pulling the most ridiculous faces in increasingly absurd locations.

It's a place for playful jabs, catching up, sharing updates. Light banter all around.

Which is why Ewan's heart nearly jumped out of his chest when the latest message came. He had been on location in LA, running through the script for his film when he received the notification. He’d ignored it at first, never one to reply promptly anyway. But a flicker of instinct – or maybe he felt it, felt you – made him check. 

Phia informed the group that you had an accident.

“... and it was during stunt training, but she’s fine and is in the hospital now…”

Everyone was encouraged to visit if they could or send their well wishes. 

Ewan’s mind reeled. Fine? What the hell does that mean? Fine could be a scratch or it could be… Fuck.

He read the message over and over until they blurred together. He knew he was willing the words to change like some idiot. You had to be okay. Nothing bad could happen to you.

Phia had just casually dropped the bombshell. She might as well have said, “Hey, how is everyone, good? Oh, by the way, she almost died but it’s cool.”

Ewan knew none of it was Phia’s fault, but that didn’t stop him from feeling an overwhelming irritation. What did ‘fine’ even mean? If he threw his phone across the room like he wanted, would that be fine?

He felt nauseous with worry as he dialled whoever he could – anyone who might give him more than just that damn word. Time went by torturously slowly, the only thing repeating in his head was the image of you – broken, unconscious, or worse – until Phia finally confirmed that it wasn’t life-threatening. 

He had to calm down, according to her. You are being taken care of, and are set to make a swift recovery.

But even then, it wasn’t enough.

Because it was you.

“Love… you’re awake.”

Sitting beside your hospital bed, Ewan gets a good look at you – finally awake but still too fragile for his liking. He hadn’t slept properly, and he feels like a whole mess. 

You blink slowly, your eyes meeting his. “Ewan?”

He feels like breathing again after being underwater for far too long. He can’t help the awkward smile that tugs at his lips. “Hey, darling. You look like you just fought a dragon.”

You start to laugh, but it quickly turns into a wince, and you relax back into the pillow. “Oh, jeez, don’t make me laugh. My head hurts.”

He quickly reaches for the glass of water on your bedside table and offers it to you. “Sorry, my bad. I’ll be my usual, stoic, boring self then.”

“You’re never boring, Mitchell.” You roll your eyes, before taking a sip.

He can’t help but watch you closely, as if you might vanish if he looks away. “Phia told the whole cast about your accident in the group chat. Did you know that?” he said, trying to keep things light.

“Oh great,” you mumble. “Did Rhys send one of his motivational selfies?”

“Well,” Ewan smiles. “He did. Said something about you ‘getting back in the saddle’ while he posed with a horse. It was inspirational, honestly.”

Ewan hadn’t felt anything when he saw that, consumed with thoughts of you, but now he feels free to let amusement wash over him. Now that he’s with you.

You roll your eyes again, softly smiling. “Of course he did. Well, I appreciate it.”

You are okay, which means Ewan is okay.

He knows just how in love he is with you. Even though you’d broken things off for his sake, even though the boundaries had blurred. Then friends with benefits. No strings. Except those strings had tightened around both of you, slowly suffocating the pretense until it collapsed. And now here you both were – again. With the issue of his PR looming like a goddamn stormcloud, and there is no running from it. 

He clears his throat. “You scared the hell out of me, you know?”

Your expression softens as you look at him. “I’m sorry. But I’m okay, really.”

He sighs, running a hand through his unruly dark blonde hair. “I didn’t know what I’d find when I got here. And Phia, bless her, has a knack for delivering life-altering news like she’s talking about what she had for breakfast.”

“She means well.” You smile, shaking your head.

“Yeah, darling, but next time, let’s just skip the part where you end up in a hospital bed, okay?” He reaches for your hand, his voice wavering slightly. He hates how vulnerable he sounds, but there’s nothing he can do to hide it.

“Deal.” You give his hand a playful shake, but your tone is sincere. 

Ewan glances down, his jaw tightening. He wants to ask if things can finally go back to the way they were – to you being his. He’s already yours anyway. 

But instead, he swallows hard and forces a lighthearted tone. “You know, if I had been there to teach you how to ride the Buck, then this never would have happened.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really, Mitchell? I’m pretty sure you almost got thrown off once.”

Ewan scoffs, giving you his best offended look. “Almost doesn’t count, darling. I’ve practically mastered it now. I do ride the biggest and fiercest dragon in the realm, remember?”

“I said don’t make me laugh,” you say, giving him a pointed look. 

He leans forward, his smirk widening. “I’m just saying. I could’ve saved you from all the stale hospital food. I mean – ” There’s a familiar flicker in his expression. With his head tilted downward, he looks at you through his eyelashes. “ – I have seen you ride, and you’ve got skill, but you do need my help.”

Your mouth falls open at his audacity. “Mitchell! When have you been this smug?”

“Only you have seen the full range of my talents,” he teased.

“Oh really?” you counter. “I did hit my head, so maybe I forgot all about them.”

“Recover quick, and I can jog your memory.”

He can feel the pull – he’d always felt it – and the familiar ache creeps back into his chest, stronger than ever. He wants to reach for you and close the gap. But instead, he buries it beneath a smirk.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

“Good. I’ll even throw in a few tricks. You know, to keep things interesting.”

“You said it, Mitchell,” you snort softly.

His gaze lingers on you, and the playful banter stalls, replaced by something heavier. And before he can stop himself, he leans close, hovering over you. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, darling,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. The way you look at him, the way your eyes soften, says enough. He hesitates for just a moment, his hand brushing gently against yours before he leans in further.

Gently, he presses his lips to your forehead, the touch light and lingering. When he pulls back, his face is close to yours, his gaze searching as if he is waiting for something. An answer. A sign. Anything to tell him where this was going.

There is something in your expression that seems like the same yearning that he has been unable to fight for so long.

“I’ll be here,” he whispers, the heavy significance of the words settling. “Whenever you need me.”

It’s your third morning at the hospital, when Phia, Liv and Tom burst into your room like a gust of fresh air, their loud voices echoing out in the hall.

Phia’s holding an extravagant bouquet of flowers – so big it practically obscures her face – while Liv balances a tray of coffees, her smile bright and warm. Tom walks in last with a massive balloon arrangement, the centre one reading GET WELL SOON in neon colours. 

“Look who’s alive and kicking!” Tom announces, waving the balloons around. “For a while there, we thought Alyna was going to have to be recast!”

Liv elbows him sharply in the ribs, then sets the coffees down on your bedside. “Tom, honestly.”

You can’t help the grin that creeps onto your face. “Yeah, right. As if there could ever be a better Alyna.”

Ewan sits by your bed, arms crossed, watching the group with quiet amusement. But the second Phia notices him, she arches a brow and points at him with a no-nonsense look. “Mitchell. Go home. Shower. Sleep. You look like death cooked over.”

Ewan’s brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to protest, but Phia cuts him off with a stern glare. “I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

He glances down at you, his expression conflicted, but you give him a small, tired nod. “You probably should. You’ve been here the whole time.”

Ewan hesitates, but then sighs, resigned. “Alright. But I’ll be back soon, darling.”

Phia nods, pleased. “Good. And don’t come back until you’ve slept at least eight hours… darling.”

Ewan shoots her a mock glare, then leans down toward you, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “See you in a few hours,” he murmurs softly, his voice just for you.

You nod, watching as he leaves the room, your heart sinking just a little. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Phia turns to you with a smirk. “He’s so whipped.”

Your cheeks flush instantly. “He’s just… worried.”

“Worried?” Tom scoffs, dropping into a chair beside Phia. “Right. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“Please,” Liv chimes in, smiling knowingly. “He’s been practically glued to your side since you woke up.”

You shift uncomfortably, trying to deflect. “Yeah, well, after everything, we’re just… friends.”

Phia arches a brow. “Friends? You guys stopped being just friends since the age of the fucking dinosaurs, doll.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Liv interrupts, sliding you a cup of water from the tray. “Alright, we’ll stop harassing you – for now. Let’s talk birthday plans instead.”

At the mention of birthdays, guilt twists in your stomach. Ewan’s birthday had been in March, just a few weeks ago. You had known, but with the mess of the overall situation, it had slipped by.

“I completely forgot his birthday,” you murmur, the guilt weighing heavy. “I should’ve done something.”

Liv squeezes your hand gently. “You’ve had a lot on your plate. I’m sure he understands.”

Tom leans forward with a grin. “That’s why we’ve got a plan to make up for it. Joint birthday bash.”

Phia nods, her eyes twinkling. “For Ewan, Fabien, and Freddie. We’re thinking a trip to Spain, some villa, maybe a pool party, lots of sunshine. It’ll be a proper holiday for everyone.”

“Wait, what?” You blink, surprised by the sudden reveal of such an elaborate plan.

Liv grins. “Yeah. We’ve already started organising it. It’ll be in mid April, just after you’re up and moving again. A real joint celebration for the three of them.”

Tom gestures grandly. “Fabien’s excited. Lord Freddie’s thrilled to be celebrated, you know how he is. Ewan – well, he doesn’t know yet, cause all he thinks about is you.”

The idea sounds incredible – a break in Spain with the cast, a chance to relax and celebrate together. Especially after your on-set slipup. But the more they talk, the more conflicted you feel. Being in the same place with both Ewan and Matty… would be something indeed. 

Ewan is still to be in a carefully curated PR relationship, all for the sake of his movie. You dislike it, though you understand it, that relentless Hollywood game of optics. But the thought of spending time with him at a secluded villa in Spain – away from cameras, prying eyes, and staged appearances – sends your heart racing. You know Ewan. He’d see it as an opportunity. A chance to be close to you, to slip back into old habits, to erase the distance that the PR relationship has forced between you.

There would be no cameras, no script to follow – just the two of you in the same space, and you already know what that would lead to.

The memory of the masquerade ball is still fresh in your mind. That one night, where the lines had blurred so easily. You’d been wrapped in the heat of his arms, the press of his body against yours, the intoxicating thrill of being with him without anyone knowing.

And then there is Matty. Sweet Matty who is too charming for his own good. You had started seeing him casually, trying to convince yourself you could make it work, and you can’t deny the pull he has on you. How easy it all could be. Being with him feels like standing with the warm embrace of sunshine. 

You love Ewan. You want Matty. Thousands of girls would scramble to be in your position – the one who captured the boys’ affections. You, the one lying there in a hospital gown, with a broken ankle and head gauze.

So glamorous. So desirable. 

Tom’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. “So, Spain. Swimming, sunbathing, a giant villa – what do you think?”

You blink, catching up to the conversation. “I think… I’m in.”

Phia grins widely. “Good. Ewan’ll be thrilled you’re coming.”

Liv smiles. “We thought the party could be a way for everyone to unwind, you included. No pressure.”

No pressure. But you know there is pressure – at least, there is for you. You’ve been avoiding it, dancing around the feelings you can’t admit to yourself, let alone to Ewan. And Matty – kind, supportive Matty, who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in your mess.

“Yeah, no pressure,” you say softly, but the words feel hollow.

Phia stands up suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Alright, enough of this emotional nonsense. Let’s talk logistics – birthday cake! We’re doing three layers, one for each of the boys.”

Tom dryly says, “I offered to get Martha to bake it, but we decided against it because her specialty is burnt-charcoal waffles.”

Phia shoots him a deadpan look. “They were practically concrete. Love her though!”

Liv laughs, shaking her head. “We’ll leave the cake to the professionals, thanks.”

As the conversation shifts to party details and farfetched ideas, your mind drifts. You try to stay focused, but your thoughts keep circling back to the same place – Spain, the party, Ewan and Matty. The idea of being around them for days, in a relaxed holiday setting, feels both exciting and terrifying. 

You know it’s not just a party. It’s a ticking time bomb.

Ewan’s footsteps echo in the sterile hospital hallway, his grip tight on the bouquet he’s brought for you – your favourite flowers, carefully chosen. As per Phia’s orders, he had gone home and slept a good 10 hours, being more exhausted than he must have realised. The day after, going back to you was the only thing that came to mind, and he was out the door in no time.

As he rounds the corner toward your room, his steps falter at the sight of someone else approaching. 

Matt.

His tall frame is impossible to miss. He saunters down the hall from the opposite direction, holding a similar bouquet in one hand and a gift bag in the other. Ewan feels the tension twisting in his stomach as Matt’s eyes meet his across the corridor. 

For a moment, the hallway falls into an eerie silence, the air thick with an unspoken challenge. Neither of them says a word as they approach the door to your room at almost the same time, both armed with flowers, both here for you. 

“Ewan,” Matt greets first, his voice low, almost amused.

Ewan nods, keeping his expression neutral. “Matt.”

Ewan’s eyes flick to the flowers in Matt’s hand, and a bitter taste rises in his throat. Matt isn’t just another visitor, he’s the guy who’s been with you while Ewan is forced to sit on the sidelines. 

“You’re here again,” Matt comments, breaking the silence. “Not that I’m surprised.” 

Ewan raises an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t I be? She needs support.”

Matt’s eyes narrow slightly, and his smile is tight. “I get that. But I’m here now too. She’s got plenty of support.”

Ewan feels a flicker of annoyance, his grip tightening on the bouquet. “You think that’s all it is? Just showing up with flowers and pretending you know what she needs?”

Matt’s jaw clenches, but he keeps his cool. He knows better than to cause a scene in the middle of a public hallway. “And you think you’re the only one who cares about her? The only one who knows her? She and I – we’ve been spending plenty of time together. I’ve got some idea of what she needs.”

The possessiveness in Matt’s tone is unmistakable, and it sets Ewan on edge. He steps closer, his eyes locked on Matt’s. “You’ve only been dating her for a few weeks, mate. But we’ve been through things that you couldn’t even begin to understand.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about your history. But let’s be real – if you were so good for her, why’d she end things with you? Why’s she with me now?”

Ewan feels a sharp pang at the reminder, but he doesn’t back down. “If you think things are over between me and her, then you’re mistaken. It will never be over. Maybe you’re a convenience. Someone for the moment.”

Matt takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “A convenience? Right. I don’t see you making any moves to change the situation. You’ve been content to sit back and watch while I’ve been with her. Maybe you’re the one who’s convenient, yeah?”

Ewan’s jaw tightens, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows Matt’s right, in a way – he’s been stuck, unable to break free from the PR relationship that’s kept him and you apart. But that doesn’t make what Matt’s saying any easier to swallow.

“The way I see it, you’re just a distraction,” Ewan says, his voice sharp, laced with bitterness, “a way for her to forget what she really wants.”

Matt’s eyes flash with anger now, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “And what she really wants is you, is that it? Tell me, Ewan, if you’re so sure she’s still in love with you, why hasn’t she said anything? Why hasn’t she kicked me to the curb and come running back?”

The words hit harder than Ewan expects, and for a moment, he falters. He knows you still love him – he can see it in the way you look at him, the way you can never quite let go. But Matt’s right. You haven’t made a choice. And now here they are, two men standing in a hallway, both fighting for something that feels just out of reach.

Ewan steps even closer. “You think just because you’re in the picture now, I’m going to step aside and let you have her? Not a fucking chance, mate.”

Matt takes a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself. It’s clear to him that Ewan isn’t going to loosen up easily. Especially not when he’s being provoked. “I’m not asking you to step aside. But unless she tells me otherwise, I’ll keep showing up. So maybe you should get used to that.”

Ewan looks away, his voice lowering. “We… both… care about her. I’m not denying that. But don’t fool yourself. She hasn’t made her choice yet.”

“Maybe she hasn’t.” Matt holds his gaze. “But I’m here, and I’m willing to wait. Are you?”

The hallway feels suffocating, the weight of their words heavy in the air. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ewan speaks again, his voice softer but no less intense.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt nods once. “Neither am I.”

They stand there in silence for a moment, the unspoken agreement settling between them. It’s a temporary truce, but they both know this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Finally, they turn toward your room, the door looming in front of them like a gateway to another battle. Ewan’s heart pounds as he pushes the door open, stepping inside, with Matt close behind.

You’re awake, sitting up slightly in bed, looking both surprised and nervous as you see the two of them enter together.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” you say, your voice tinged with humour as your eyes dart between the two men.

“Hey,” Matt says with an easy smile, walking over to place his flowers on the table by your bed. “Thought I’d stop by, check in on you.”

Ewan follows suit, setting his bouquet down next to Matt’s, though his gaze stays fixed on you. “And I came back, as promised.”

“Funny that you show up at the same time.” You glance between them, your brow raising. 

Matt chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, we didn’t exactly plan it.”

Ewan forces a smile, trying to keep things light. “Just making sure you’re not causing any more trouble, darling.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, I’m definitely the troublemaker here.”

Ewan sinks into the chair by your bed while Matt leans against the windowsill, arms crossed. For a brief moment, it almost feels normal. Almost.

“Phia mentioned Spain,” Matt says after a beat, his voice casual, but there’s an edge to his tone. “The birthday trip.”

You nod eagerly. “The joint birthday for the lads.” Your eyes flicker to Ewan. “I feel terrible for missing your birthday last month.”

Ewan shakes his head, his expression softening. “You had a lot going on. Don’t worry about it.”

The casual mention of his birthday tugs at your heartstrings. You hadn’t forgotten exactly, but things had been so complicated. Now, though, guilt gnaws at you.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say sincerely, looking at Ewan, and the way his eyes hold yours makes your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, the villa should be fun,” Matt chimes in, but there’s something sharp in his tone. “But we have to be sure you’re in tip top shape first, love.”

“I’ll be the one in the bikini and a leg cast,” you joke. 

The conversation drifts into lighter topics – memories of on-set pranks, silly cast antics – but there’s an underlying tension, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. It’s almost like watching a film in slow motion, each moment dragging longer than it should, with none of you willing to say what you’re really thinking.

After a while, Ewan checks his phone, his brows knitting together. He glances at you, a reluctant sigh escaping his lips. “Darling, I need to head out. I’ve got a meeting with my manager to sort out the filming schedule.”

You nod in understanding. “You did leave LA pretty quickly. I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

Ewan’s gaze softens. “It’s not trouble,” he says quietly. “Not when it’s for you.”

As he walks to the door, he pauses and looks back at you, his expression unreadable. He hesitates, then takes a few steps back toward the bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead gently. The gesture is tender, and it leaves a warmth in its wake that lingers long after he’s gone.

“Rest up, darling,” he murmurs before turning to leave.

You’re left with Matt, the silence between you more comfortable and less tense than it was with Ewan. He moves from his spot by the window and sits down in the chair Ewan just vacated. He offers you a gentle smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “He cares about you a lot, you know,” he says.

“I know,” you reply softly.

Matt smirks, his cheekiness resurfacing. “Almost as much as I do.”

The atmosphere eases after that, Matt joking about the cast’s upcoming trip to Spain, trying to make you laugh. After a while, your body begins to give in to exhaustion, your eyes growing heavy. He notices and encourages you to rest, and you doze off before long, the soft hum of his voice lulling you to sleep. 

But just as you slip into that hazy space between wakefulness and dreaming, you hear Matt’s voice again, quieter now, like he’s talking to himself. Or maybe to you, thinking you’re already asleep.

“I know you still love him,” he says softly, the words almost painful to hear. “I can see it every time you look at him. It’s obvious.”

Your heart tightens in your chest, but you keep your breathing steady, pretending to stay asleep.

“I don’t blame you,” Matt continues, his voice rough with emotion. “He’s good for you, isn’t he? You’ve got history. I knew what I was getting into when we started this… whatever this is. But I can’t help it. I see myself falling in love with you, and it terrifies me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your eyes burn behind your closed lids. You want to say something, anything, but you don’t. You lie there, frozen, letting Matty’s confession hang in the air between you.

“You don’t have to choose me,” Matt whispers, almost as if he’s resigned to his fate. “But I… I certainly wouldn’t mind it if you do, love.” He laughs bitterly at the end, then turns serious once more. “We could… we could be happy.”

His voice cracks slightly, and it takes everything in you not to react. You hadn’t realised just how much this meant to him, how deeply he felt. He always seemed so easygoing, so casual, and now you see that there was more beneath the surface. So much more.

You lie still, pretending to sleep, as Matt gently brushes a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll be here, if you want me,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. 

You chose yourself, selfish as it might have been, and you would make the same decision again if given the chance. You needed to do that; you owed it to yourself. You also sought companionship and a shot at happiness with him. But that hadn’t been final. 

No matter who it will be in the end, someone’s heart is going to break. 

Your ankle is forgotten, your concussion a trifling thing.

Because the weight of that choice is a much heavier burden to bear.

The villa in Spain is like something out of a dream, nestled in the rolling hills of Mallorca. Its white stone walls gleam against the deep blue backdrop of the Mediterranean, the ocean stretching endlessly in the distance. The courtyard is lined with blooming florals and tall cypress trees. It’s the kind of place that makes you forget about the rest of the world, even if just for a moment, and let go of everything that’s complicated and heavy.

But not for Ewan, who sits alert under the shade of a large patio umbrella by the pool, clad in only his navy blue swim trunks. His sunglasses are perched on his nose, as he pretends to read a script – his attention is elsewhere. 

They track you, where you’re surrounded by the girls, all of them fussing over you like a flock of mother hens. Your fracture boot is propped up on the sun chair, crutches leaning nearby. 

Ewan smiles to himself when you laugh at something Liv says, your face lighting up completely. He's relieved that you’re able to relax after everything. But underneath that relief is something else – something that coils even tighter every time he glances at Matt nearby.

Matt’s never far, either. Ewan notices it. Of course, he notices. How could he not? The way Matt hovers just on the edge of the group, never too close to seem overbearing but always there. It’s the same thing Ewan’s doing, and it’s infuriating because he knows exactly what it means. 

Ewan watches as a shirtless Matt hands you a cold drink, his hand brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. You look up, smile gratefully at him, and Ewan feels the sharp sting of it, like a jab to the ribs. He clenches his jaw and forces himself to look away, his grip tightening on the already tattered script in his hands.

“Mitchell, my boy,” Freddie says, plopping down in the chair beside him. “You’ve clearly got a thousand-yard stare going on underneath those shades. You alright?”

Ewan shrugs, trying to play it off. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

Freddie is unconvinced, but he doesn’t push. “It’s our celebration in paradise, mate. You should think about getting a drink in you. Pretend to have fun before Tom ropes us all into some ridiculous pool game.”

Ewan huffs a laugh, grateful for the distraction, but it’s short-lived. His eyes drift back to you, watching as Phia ties a sun hat around your head, joking about protecting ‘the merchandise,’ while Liv adjusts the chair to make sure you’re comfortable. You’re surrounded by care, by laughter, and yet… Ewan can’t shake the need to be near you. To be the one making sure you’re alright.

He hates the way Matt looks at you, like he’s got some claim, like he knows what’s best for you. He doesn’t know you. Not like Ewan does. He hasn’t been through the heartbreak, the sleepless nights, the mess of trying to hold it together when everything was falling apart. He hasn’t watched you fight through everything, hasn’t seen the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.

Matt is there, sure, but Ewan has been there.

He wants to go over, tell the girls to give you some space, be the one to take care of you himself. But he doesn’t. Not with Matt there, standing just close enough to remind him that you’re not his to take care of. Not anymore. 

“Careful, mate,” Fabien materialises from the side, a drink in hand. “You keep looking at her like that, and it’s gonna get messy.”

“It’s already messy,” Ewan replies, clicking his tongue. He shifts in his seat, trying to focus on the script in front of him, but it’s pointless. He watches as Matt crouches down beside you, leaning in to say something quietly. You laugh, and the sound hits like a white-hot surge to his veins – an instinctual, possessive reaction he can’t suppress. 

Ewan doesn’t want to cause a scene. It’s a holiday, after all – everyone’s in good spirits, and you finally look like you’re getting some much-needed rest.

But before he even realises it, he’s already halfway across the courtyard, his steps brisk and determined. 

“Hey,” Ewan says when he reaches you, his tone light, almost forced. “Mind if I join?”

Matt straightens, settling in the chair next to you. “Well, look who finally decided to come over. Thought you were just going to lurk all day.”

You shift in your chair, adjusting your fracture boot, letting Ewan sit next to your outstretched legs. “I’m fine, by the way. If that’s what this is about.”

The girls are now watching intently in their respective sun chairs, pretending to sip their drinks but clearly enjoying the show. You’re caught between rolling your eyes and laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Ewan casts a quick glance at your ankle boot, the tenderness in his gaze flickering just for a moment before he locks eyes with Matt again. “I’m just making sure you’re not overwhelming her. She might need her space,” he says.

Matt raises an eyebrow, his casual posture not matching the edge in his voice. “Space? Mate, that’s rich coming from the guy who’s crowding her chair right now.”

Phia snorts into her drink, earning a stern look from Liv, but it’s too late. The tension is starting to draw a crowd, and even Fabien and Freddie are craning their necks to watch. Freddie whispers something to Fabien, who laughs, clearly entertained.

Instead of rising to the bait, Ewan exhales sharply and forces a smile. “Just making sure my… friend is comfortable.”

Liv arches an eyebrow. “My god, friend, is it? Please don’t tell me I’m your friend too.”

Emma freely chortles at Liv’s remark, while Phia doubles over in glee.

You interject with a sigh, waving your hands between them. “Okay, enough. I love a good ego battle as much as the next girl, but seriously – this is supposed to be a holiday. Can we not do this?”

“Honestly, you two,” Phia says, “I thought I already made it clear – she’s my girl.”

The tension cracks as the group erupts into laughter, and even Ewan and Matt can’t help but smile. 

“Alright, alright,” Ewan mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Truce. For now.”

Matt smirks, extending a hand mockingly toward Ewan, who rolls his eyes but shakes it briefly before turning his attention back to you. His gaze softens as he catches your eye. “Just… don’t overdo it, yeah?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “I’m the one in a boot. Trust me, I’m not going anywhere fast.”

Emma’s enjoying the scene, calmly sipping on their negroni sbagliato. “Honestly, with the way things are unfolding, this drama could end up being better than the show.”

Before anyone can throw in another comment, Ewan’s phone vibrates in the pocket of his trunks. His expression darkens briefly when he glances at the screen. It’s his manager, but she knows not to disturb him on holiday unless it’s urgent. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.” He catches your eye for a brief moment before stepping away.

The world of Hollywood is no stranger to scandal, but this one is poised to shake the industry to its core.

Bruce Haversham, the powerful executive behind some of the biggest film projects in recent decades, had been untouchable at the very top of the mountain. Until now.

The news broke late in the afternoon, first as a whisper across social media before exploding into full-blown coverage on every major network. Accusations of sexual harassment and assault came pouring in, one after the other, each more damning than the last.

By the time the story hit the major outlets, it was clear that Bruce Haversham’s reign was over.

In New York, where he had been arrested, footage of him being escorted from his apartment in handcuffs circulated widely. The headlines were merciless: Hollywood Titan Falls, The End of Bruce Haversham’s Empire, A Predator Unmasked.

For Ewan, this is more than just a story on the evening news. It’s personal.

It was Bruce who masterminded the PR relationship that drove a wedge between Ewan and the one he truly loves. 

Now, everything changes. Bruce Haversham was out. Effective immediately. 

The path ahead wouldn’t be easy – far from it – but now, at least it was a path Ewan can walk freely. 

His mind races as he drops the call, the flood of information almost too much to process at once. Talk about a late birthday gift.

The relief hit him fast, like a cool rush of air. But it was immediately followed by something else – confusion, uncertainty. What now? What did this mean for him, and for you?

Matt had swooped in, offering you comfort and companionship, complicating things further. He cares about you, Ewan knew that. And from the outside, it makes sense – you and Matt seemed good together. 

But Ewan knows better. Deep down, he was certain – absolutely sure – that what you and he shared isn’t just good. It was right. You and him… you are perfect together.

Ewan’s free from his strings, and all bets are off. 

It’s all or nothing this time. 

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

Some notes in the margins...

The rest of the holiday will take up most of part 12! Ewan can actually properly enjoy himself now 😉

Don't think it'll be that easy! Darling's tied to Matty too, in a way. And after that confession? Damn it, Matthew, you sly loverboy you.

How far will Ewan go? And will Matty double down on his efforts? It's all chemical. It's all overriding. 🤷🏻‍♀️💙

[caprenoctem]

Dream a little dream...

[keplitz]

MASM enjoyers.. if you can hear me MASM enjoyers...

[amielot]

Animal magnetism

[narcissistcookbook]

it really means a lot to me that brennan spent one day in what is famously one of most grey and miserable cities in the uk and went "... this is where evan kelmp lives"

[chloecherrysip]

The End/The Beginning

[seaofolives]

“In this universe, nothing is more precious than life.”

[miraneko19]

"Peak shounen" this, "epic battles/romance" that, I cant look for recs like this anymore. My brain and its wants are so specific. It wants things to get OBSESSED with. I dont care if the show is great or if it's barely even that good. If there's something in there that has gotten people obsessed with it, be it the world or the characters (but being attached to the characters is a must for me) I want it. I want it now. My brain won't watch things that are just "really good" rn I need something lovably stupid to happen in the series that makes me laugh and turns my brain into a frothing BLENDER

[writing-for-life]

If I read once more they “changed” Dream’s family dinner look from the comics, especially the hair, I’m going to flip.

This is Season of Mists. Dream on the balcony with Death right after Desire rattled his cage—with his hair down.

What we see in the sneak peek is

comics accurate family dinner attire (maybe more monochromatic, but pretty spot on regardless)

The only thing they’ve changed (by the looks of it) is that he doesn’t step out of the picture with a tricorn and his hair tied back—but the bow is gone on the balcony, and the hair is down.

His hair is still tied when he storms out, but that’s him in the next panel:

Maybe he ruffled his hair, maybe it’s just his way of taking a deep breath and freeing himself of the unbearable constraints of a hair bow—who will ever know.

But the show writers/costume department certainly didn’t take this one out of thin air—they just streamlined it into one look…

[pigeonedlilac]

[again saying these are fictitious despite how obvious just in case happyele comes down with an iron fist 🤛]

- Bleeding Ink ♡ Letters From the Heart

By request, StarPro idols are being recruited for the next round of the dating sim Love★Star. Due to the conflicting schedule of a required appearance at a ball, Yuzuru declines the offer, but the game’s director suddenly rewrites the plot…

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MIDORI TAKAMINE!!!!!!!!!!

I find myself here again :) I have so much respect for enstars artists.. what they pump out 3+ times a week takes me 5 whole months . My gofd ! I really hope you guys like these 2 🙏 personally they don’t leave my head!

[necrotic-nephilim]

any opinions on joker junior!tim/jason?

oh my GOD yes-

Joker Junior!Tim is one of my guilty pleasures. i'm *obsessed* with the concept, i think it's so horrifying in such an intriguing way. it's tricky to work into the main timeline, but that's sort of the fun of it, bc generally you have two routes: Joker Junior happened to Tim when he was Robin and he's since moved on and continued to be Robin then Red Robin. or it happened to him as Red Robin and is a current thing that the characters in the fic are dealing with. and both are good.

because there's endless potential of how to do it with JayTIm. does Jason save Tim, does Jason *know* in the first place, if it happens after Jason is back as Red Hood how does he react, etc. i've read it in fics and i love every version.

but i think i'm intrigued by the idea of Joker Junior happening before Jason comes back as Red Hood and he finds out about it and he's *pissed*. like infinitely more pissed than he would've been. but his anger isn't in protection of Tim, it's at Bruce for not learning, for letting this happen again. and for making a brainwashed child have to kill Joker because *again*, Bruce couldn't do it. the point isn't about if Joker is alive or dead. it's that *Bruce* didn't kill Joker and Jason's death didn't mean enough to Bruce to stop Joker before he did it again. because Joker Junior really is the proof Jason needs to shove in Bruce's face about child sidekicks and Robins and Joker. and since Jason didn't exist in the universe where Joker Junior happened, we never saw a real comparison of the two. but i think if they happened in the same universe, it makes what Joker does to Tim far more purposeful. because now he knows he can kill a Robin and *get away with it*. so he wants to push it. how do you top *killing Robin*? like, if that doesn't get to Batman *what does*? Joker Junior seems like the perfectly reasonable next progression. if a dead Robin doesn't break the Bat, then breaking Robin beyond recognition seems even bigger. and Joker trying to get Tim to kill Bruce as Joker Junior would likely be Joker just seeing if Bruce would let it happen. could Bruce bring himself to stop Tim? and of course Joker doesn't find out bc Tim kills him instead, but it's such a fun question.

and so, i think Jason would *know* his death in a way, caused this. Joker did that to Tim because he didn't get enough of a rise out of Bruce for killing Jason. if Bruce had *just* killed the Joker, none of this would've happened. another kid wouldn't be irrevocably fucked up.

as for Jason's opinions on Tim specifically, i think it's fun if Tim retires from vigilante work entirely after the incident. (with Steph taking over as Robin for a much longer and more significant period instead of just getting fridged) because Tim has very black and white morals so knowing he killed someone, even under the influence of Joker venom, he'd immediately put down the cape, suggest Steph to take up his mantle and quietly retire. he knows what he's capable of now, pushed to the edge and it scares him. i think it's fun if it scares him *because* he was lucid. if he was truly under the brainwashing control, he would've killed Bruce. but he didn't. he had a moment of clarity, and decided to kill the Joker. and he knows that was *him*, not Joker Junior. he made that decision and now, he lives with it.

which means Jason would be almost pissed off by Tim, at first. because they're reacting to their trauma *wildly* differently. Jason wants blood for blood, vengeance, war, and to make Gotham feel his wrath. but Tim just wants to. disappear. quietly vanish and live a quiet life, even refusing to run comms. Jason doesn't understand how TIm doesn't share the anger and passion Jason has for justice. he knows what Tim is capable of and so does Tim, so why doesn't Tim lean into it? why doesn't he take back control? bc this is letting the Joker win, to Jason. after all, Jason is the guy who took Joker's old name to prove a point. and now he's facing another person broken by Joker who just. is a normal guy. i'd love to write Jason forcibly dragging Tim back into the superhero life, trying to trigger the worst out of him and wanting to find kinship in Tim. because that's another part of it- this is someone else who might actually understand Jason's experiences and Jason just wants to not be alone. he wants someone else who gets what it feels like. so he makes Tim face the trauma Tim is running from and pushes and pushes until Tim snaps. i think it could be fun.

don't get me wrong, i love softer JJ!Tim in JayTim stuff just as much, where Jason is more protective and they bond and end up really close and taking care of each other because of it. but i'd love to lean into the fucked up nature of it. for Jason to want to rip Tim open and see just how much of the Joker is left inside of him. for Jason to be obsessed with the other Robin that Joker broke. for Jason to be even angrier at Bruce because of it all. there's endless potential and it will forever remain my guilty pleasure for JayTim.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Aghhh thank you for reading and commenting throughout the series! 🖤🖤🖤

If I were in her shoes, I'd probably be a bit more discerning and cautious, but we love her for opening her home (and her heart) to Daemon!!! 🫂

Hello! Could I request a scenario where Daemon somehow winds up in the modern world and is taken in by a nurse!reader?

this world was never meant for a fire like yours (part 1/5)

Daemon Targaryen x modern-f!reader / nurse!reader

word count: 4k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

series synopsis: After a fatal injury on the battefield, Daemon wakes up in a foreign land - our world (where GoT / HoTD does not exist). He meets the reader, a nurse who tends to him and helps him navigate everything. They grow close, and slowly, but unequivocally, fall in love.

themes/warnings: slow burn, jealous!daemon, cursing, some violence

112 AC, Westeros

He feels it. Slight at first, then the pain becomes almost unbearable.

Daemon feels the sword pass through his torso. A sudden intrusion of steel, one second it was buried in him, and the next it was being pulled violently out.

There’s no way, he thinks, seven fucking hells.

He feels enraged, and it must have shown, because the knight who had so luckily impaled his sword through him, started to back away in fear.

He starts to feel everything fade away, white spots beginning to blot his vision. The sun suddenly feels excruciating, the heat burrowing into his head, and not in a good way. Daemon was a Targaryen, born out of fire, and one way or another, likely destined to go out in flames. But this heat, was hell.

Everything was burning, and he presses his hand down hard, trying to stifle the outpouring of blood from his ribs, but it does nothing to help.

I’m going to rip you apart, Daemon thinks, angrily straggling towards the knight, using every bit of his remaining strength.

One strong, determined swing, and the knight’s head rolls down on the ground.

Daemon falls to his knees, and he hears those in his army start to notice.

“Prince Daemon!” he hears several voices exclaim in a panic, hurriedly drawing closer to him, but they were being impeded by enemy knights.

The pain was still there, but Daemon starts to feel numb, almost eerily calm.

Oh gods, he thinks, this is it.

A deafening screech echoes throughout the skies, and a large looming beast flies overhead.

“Caraxes”, Daemon determinedly says, raising his voice one last time, “Dracarys!”

Then everything is ablaze. Screams reverberate all throughout the battlefield. Daemon could hear his army start to cheer, gaining the upper hand due to dragonfire.

Caraxes flies down to his master, but it was too late.

October 2022

Daemon Targaryen was gone.

His eyes fly open. He remembers the heat, the excruciating pain through his torso, and hurriedly looks down to inspect the wound.

He was lying down still clad in armor, so he strips his breastplate off, and sees the bloodstain pooled on his undershirt.

Lifting the shirt up, he sees a fresh wound just below his ribs. It was certainly painful, and still raw, but it didn’t look like he just had an entire sword go through him.

What the… Daemon sits up, trying to find any more evidence of the fatal wound. Perhaps it was on another side? Maybe it had partially healed? But how? He remembers that moment as if it just happened, and it certainly feels that way.

He shouldn’t be alive. He was sure, that was his end, as excruciatingly mediocre of an end as he might deem it to be.

He puts his breastplate back on, and gets on his feet, nausea coursing through him. He begins inspecting his surroundings. It’s dark out, and he is in some sort of alley, although nothing resembled anything he’s ever seen before. This sure as hell doesn’t seem like the afterlife.

A loud wailing sound echoes from somewhere, and he glimpses a white carriage-looking thing rush past the road, a glowing blue and red device atop it. He makes his way in that direction, and bumps into an unsuspecting man who was holding something up to his ears.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Daemon curses, grappling with the unfamiliarity of where he was.

“Okay, sorry, dude,” The man nonchalantly raises his arms, and walks off.

What did he just call me? Daemon thinks.

Everything was loud, and he almost found it unbearable, the pain in his head burning white-hot.

You walk back to your apartment, your trusty coat over your blue scrubs, after finishing a long shift at the local hospital.  Now, you want nothing more than to take a shower, change into cozier clothes, and make a quick meal.

Where the fuck am I?

Making the turn onto your street, you see him.

He almost looked alien, given the setting he was in. Dressed in medieval-looking garb, with a full body of armor. His striking white-blonde hair caught your eye.

That can’t be his natural hair color, you think in passing. You notice that he was loitering right in front of your building, and he looked lost. His gaze was jumping from one thing to another, as if everything was new to him.

He must be insane, you think, and shit, I would have to pass right by him.

You walk faster, determined not to catch his eye. It could just be your imagination, but the sword hanging by his belt looked all too realistic.

You reach your place, trying to keep your head down, and fumble in your bag for your keys. When you finally have it in your hand, you hear a clanking noise behind you, and you swiftly turn around.

The blond man had fallen down on his knees, his arm hanging onto the street fence, a few feet behind you. You now have a clearer view of him, and see the unmistakeable sign of pain across his face.

He’s hurt. Your instincts kick in, and you rush to his side.

“Hey, hey,” you kneel down beside him, and you hear him mumbling incoherently.

“What's wrong? Let me help,” you implore him, and you hope that it wasn’t all a ploy, and that he wasn’t someone dangerous.

“I don’t know where I am,” you hear him say. He looks so pale, clutching his torso. You notice a spot of blood spreading from his undershirt, and you mutter to yourself, “Oh shit.”

“Come with me,” you struggle to help him up, “I’m a nurse, and my place is right here. I can help you.”

“A nurse?”, he mumbles, as if unfamiliar with the term. You grunt under his weight, as you walk him to your building door.

“You’re not some goddess, are you?” he whispers, groggy eyes studying your face. The comment catches you off guard, and you’re not sure how to respond to that. In normal circumstances, that question might have made you blush, but you were preoccupied by his potential injury.

It takes you around 5 whole minutes to drag him up to your door, as opposed to the usual 20 seconds, after which you plop him down on your couch, your body feeling strained.

You run to your room to retrieve the necessary medical equipment, and when you return, you find him passed out on your couch.

Daemon's eyes flutter open.

Who are you?

A pleasant smell wafts from the kitchen, and he raises his head a little, taking in the room he was in. It seemed small, with the kitchen right beside the lounge area where he was lying down.

Are these servants quarters? The prince thinks, as he attempts to sit up.

You hear him moving from your spot in front of the stove, so you tentatively greet out, "Hey, you're awake."

He looks at you up and down, trying to place you, "You're the woman from the street."

"And you're the man from the street," you walk over to him, "Are you a cosplayer?" You had been genuinely curious about his garb, among many other things. You could not deny his striking, roguish beauty, for one.

"Am I a what?" He asks, almost angrily. He notices that he was only in his undershirt and trousers, his metal armour stripped off and neatly piled in the corner of the room.

"Oh yeah," you follow his gaze, "I had to take the heavy parts of your costume off of you so I could thoroughly inspect your wound, which is now sewn up nicely by the way. You would have to apply an antibiotic daily so there won't be an infection, and I can give you a whole bottle-"

He rises, groaning loudly, clutching his side, "Where am I? How do I go back to King's Landing? I'm sure they're looking for me."

He sways a little, and you place an arm around him, keeping him steady, "You should sit down."

"Look, I appreciate your help but I really don't think I belong here," he spits out venomously, shrugging off your help, "Actually, I should be fucking dead."

"Who are you?"

"Who am I?" He asks, as if expecting you to recognize him. You briefly wonder if he was some celebrity or something. Was he coming from a movie set, hence the armor?

"I am Prince Daemon Targaryen, the first of my name, Commander of the City Watch, one of the last great dragonriders, wielder of Dark Sister, and brother to King Viserys I himself."

"Oh." So he is insane.

You take a deep breath, in an attempt to stay calm as this shit show unfolds before you. This is what I get for being a good Samaritan, you think.

"Well, Prince Daemon," you take a step closer, and hold out your hand, "I'm y/n. Are you hungry? I’m making some pasta.”

December 2022

“Some what?”

It had taken some time, for both you and Daemon to become acquainted with each other. The fact that he almost never left your apartment certainly helped. He was there when you woke, and he was the last person you greeted before you went to sleep.

You and him had gone through the motions – you eventually convinced him to visit the hospital that you worked at, so that he could get a more thorough check-up, and that experience was stressful, to say the least. You could tell that he seemed apprehensive and a bit scared, even. When the doctor tried to use any “strange object” on him, as he so called them, he had lashed out. Another worrying thing was that Daemon did not have any medical records, nor did he appear on any system. He simply did not exist. And you should know, you checked everywhere.

He told you his story, one so fantastical and so grand that you're unable to wrap your head around it until today. You hoped it was all true, that there was something so extraordinary out there. Battles, and kingdoms, and dragons, and sorcery. Things only present in the fantasy novels that you so loved.

It sounded a lot more exciting than the often dreary world you were living in, although you knew you were quite lucky with your lot. Working a job wherein you actually get to help people, and living independently in a small but homey flat that you have personalized to your liking.

A flat that has been invaded by an undeniably charismatic, brooding, potentially crazy, apparent Prince from “one of the last great families of Old Valyria”. Wherever that may be.

Daemon was someone who had a regal air about him, which somewhat validated his claims. In nearly two months of observing him, you could tell that he was highly intelligent, and calculating. And he acted like he was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted, which you first chocked up to plain entitlement. But he didn’t possess the rudeness and lack of self-awareness that usually came with it.

He occupies your thoughts, much more than you’d care to admit. And as you walk back after another shift, you find yourself looking forward to being home, largely in part because of Daemon.

Nearing your door, you become alarmed at the unmistakable smell of smoke coming from inside.

"Daemon?" You hurriedly enter, and find out that the smoke was coming from your kitchen.

"Fuck!" He stands in the kitchen, arms desperately trying to wave the smoke away.

"What are you doing?" You rush to take the pot away from stove, its contents charred and probably inedible. You throw it onto the sink, dowsing it in water.

Feeling relieved, you lean against the counter, wiping sweat from your brow.

"That wasn't meant to happen," Daemon says under his breath.

"Oh yeah?" You motion to the remains in the pot, "what were you making?" He had never done this before, but he would shadow you in the kitchen sometimes, learning the names of the dishes, and the equipment you used.

"I was trying to make the thing you cooked that first night. Pasto."

You stare at him, trying to decipher what he said, and when you realize, you burst in a fit of giggles. The word sounded comical coming from Daemon, who stands dejectedly in your small kitchen.

"Do you mean pasta?"

"Oh," A crooked smile graces his lips, as he shrugs, "That's what I said."

"Sure," you smile back, "you know what, I'll just sort all of this out then I'll make some pasta. Alright?"

"Thanks, love." He says, before he walks over to the couch.

Oh, hell. Why does he have to call me that? Your thoughts race, as you feel your cheeks redden. You didn't want to feel anything for this stranger who might walk out of your life just as spontaneously as he walked into it.

Suddenly, there's a strong knock on your door.

"Y/n? Is everything okay? I smell smoke."

"I'll get it," you motion to Daemon, and open the door to find your neighbour from across the hall, Tom.

"Hey," he leans by the door, a concerned expression his face, "where's the fire?", he adds lightly.

"Oh," you laugh dryly, "just a bit of a cooking hazard, is all. All sorted out now. Sorry to alarm you, Tom."

His eyes land on Daemon sitting on the couch, and he whispers to you, "That guy's still here?"

You had told him that Daemon was a family friend from out of town who needed a place to stay for a while. Tom didn't seem to like the idea, once telling you, "I don't know, that guy seems sketchy. He stares at you a lot."

You had dismissed that notion. Although, yes, you did think Daemon was sketchy, but more so in the beginning. He has since grown on you, and you had learned to accept how different he was. If he believed that he was from another world, then you wanted to believe that, too.

"Yeah, turns out he needs to stay longer."

"Oh, really?" Tom seems annoyed, and you assume it's only because he's being a protective friend, "he's not paying a share of your rent, though, is he?"

"No, but that's not a problem. I want to help him, so it's okay," you try to convince him, and he starts to relax, shoulders loosening.

"Okay, well, I was just checking in. By the way, would you like to see a movie with me this weekend? If you're not working, that is," he asks, and this wasn't the first time that he tried asking you out. The last two attempts, you had genuinely been busy working.

"Uh, well, okay," you decide, because why the hell not? You need something to distract you from the sullen Prince who nearly tried to burn down your kitchen. That handsome, infuriating, mysterious...

"Great!" Tom grins, breaking your thoughts, "I'll come by here before then, so we can decide on the movie."

When you end the conversation and close the door, you turn to see Daemon looking your way, then he says, "I don't like him, he looks at you far too long, sometimes."

Well, what a coincidence. He feels the same way about you, you think.

You sit across each other, as per your routine, coming home and eating a meal together after you’ve spent the day working and he has been reading through your 'magic box'. Your new laptop, that is. Daemon proved to be a highly adaptable person, and he’s been eager to learn everything he can about the world in which he has apparently been forcibly transferred to.

You briefly wonder why Daemon would be bothered about Tom, in that way. Deep down inside, you hope he was jealous, but before you let wishful thinking run rampant, you head over to the kitchen, and get to work.

After the first week or so of intense denial and anger at his situation, he had calmed down, and he learned to be civil to you. As he should - he is freely staying in your apartment, after all. You had taken long walks outside together, introducing him to things such as traffic lights, concrete buildings, buses, coffee shops and the like. One notable moment was when he spotted a helicopter in the sky, smiled softly to himself, and confided in you, “How I wish I could ride a dragon again.” You had gotten lost in the innocence in his expression, that sincere wistfulness, and you hoped that he would someday get what he wanted. Although, your heart sank at the thought of him leaving you.

There would be bleak moments, now and then, like when you had found him on the floor of your room, head in his hands. He had discovered the bottle of wine you kept in the shelf, which lay empty beside him. Your laptop had been discarded, a visible crack on the screen, after he had thrown it down in frustration. His voice broke when he spoke, “That thing is not giving me any answers. It doesn’t know how I can go back home.”

You heart ached for him, so you sank down, and pulled him into a hug. He froze at first, not used to such contact, but relented after a while. You held each other, until he whispered, “I’m sorry about your magic box. If I had any gold with me, I would get you another.” You reassured him, taken his hand, and given him one of your books to read. He had since read all of them, eagerly prompting discussions with you after every book.

“This is delectable, as always, y/n.” He says, in between bites, “How were your hours today as a healer?” Healer was apparently what they call a nurse where he came from.

“Quite alright,” you respond, “learned anything new today?”

“I have been… looking for a suitable position around these parts.”

“A position?”

“Yes, a source of funding, you might say. I can no longer just accept your food and lodging, and not contribute anything of use.” He says sincerely, and you appreciate it.

“Alright, and what have you found?” you ask curiously, knowing that Daemon has grown quite restless as of late.

“Apparently there’s something called an auto shop just 5 minutes from here, and they’re looking for a mechanic. Someone that can help mend carriages, I mean, cars. I’ve walked over to the place, and the owner is willing to accept me even without documentation. He‘s also willing to teach me everything about the craft.” He explains, audibly pausing before words that he still finds to be unfamiliar.

“That’s great, Daemon,” you say, knowing that among all modern technology, he found vehicles and aircraft to be especially fascinating.

“Yes, I shall return there tomorrow,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What was that I heard that Tom ask you about? Something about a movie?”

“Well, you know all about movies by now. He’s asked if I would like to see one with him. Something like a date, actually.”

“A date? So that means you will spend some time together?” he asks, and you could hear the distaste in his voice.

“That’s right. But, a date can have some romantic intention behind it, which I think is what he wants.”

“Romance? With him? Surely, you don’t consider him a worthy prospect,” His tone is sour. Is that jealousy, or does he simply dislike Tom as he is?

“You know, he’s not so bad,” you try defending Tom a little, “and anyway, it’ll be casual. Nothing serious.”

“I do hope he has no plans of bedding you,” he says offhandedly, roughly chewing his food.

You almost choke on your drink, taken aback by his sudden statement, “Daemon!”

“What? It’s a founded concern. You are a very beautiful woman, and he seems dim-witted enough to think himself worthy of attempting such a thing.”

The compliment stifled your embarrassment, and made you feel something else entirely. He had said it so easily, as if he wasn’t expecting anything in return or flirting mindlessly, and was simply stating an observation.

“Well,” you swallow, trying to find the words to say, “I doubt that will happen anytime soon. I don’t see myself and him, in that way, yet.”

You see him scowl at the last word, and you feel slightly pleased. Prince Daemon Targaryen may actually be jealous, and that means… “He likes me.” You freeze, having voiced out your thought.

Daemon’s eyebrows furrow, missing your point, “Well, of course he does. Why else would he try his hand at being with you?”

Daemon had been mulling over many things, and admittedly, most of his thoughts concern you. He would think of his current predicament, and find himself pleased that it was you he had been saddled with. If it were anybody else, Daemon might have found some way, some miracle, to bring a dragon to this chaotic world and burn everything down. You made it all bearable.

He liked waking up with you every day, although you don’t share a bed, with him still being designated the couch. He looked forward to your arrival from work, the quiet apartment feeling less droll with your presence. You had patiently shown him your world, even though he knew it must be a drag for you to answer his ceaseless barrage of questions. He found you a pleasant companion, to say the least, but lately, he has also noticed other things.

He would feel his heart quicken, when your hand would touch his arm, his hand, his shoulders, when you would teach him how to use your modern appliances. He found himself admiring your smile, the sound of your laughter, at how you had managed to be good-natured and pragmatic about the whole situation. Even if it must not be easy for you to have a madman like him dwelling in your home.

He enjoyed the way you would talk to him about your favourite books, and ideas. How your eyes would light up while you spoke of the things you love.

But also, he had started to notice your bright eyes, the sensual swell of your lips. The smoothness of your skin, your womanly shape, your backside…

“Daemon?” you snap your fingers at him, “I think I lost you there.”

“Oh yes, sorry, ” he leans back.

“I asked what you would you like to do after dinner.” Seeing him also having finished, you pick up your plates, and walk over to the sink.

“I’m not sure,” he stammers a little, and you wonder what he was so lost in thought about, “I can clean those.” He points to the dirty dishes.

You shake your head, “It’s alright. It’s my turn anyway, you did the dishes last night. We can find a new movie to watch?”

He looks at you for a long time, and continues to do so, as you begin your task.

Soon after, you hear him stand, and say, “Sure, we can do that.”

You sense him walk over, stopping just behind you, his warmth just inches from your back, and before you can ask why he was standing so close, he lays his head on your shoulder.

You don’t want to move, so as not to displace him, as he steadies himself with one hand on the counter beside you. This feels good, this feels right.

“Daemon,” you whisper softly, desperately trying to continue your task even though your heart was racing.

“I’ve missed your presence,” he confesses. You want to turn around and wrap your arms around him. You want to finally know how his lips might feel on yours.

But for now, you hold back, content with this, how he feels. How he has slowly been warming up to you. Perhaps, there will be more, another time.

You smile widely, your expression mirroring exactly how you feel, “I’ve missed your presence, too, Daemon.”

end of part one.

This was meant to be a oneshot, but it got too long -- so part two coming soon!

And yes, part 2 will be 18+

Thanks for all the love on "without you, I would not be". I'll be writing a longer Daemon series soon 🖤

[notquiteaghost]

ngl i do think social media increasingly reinforces bad habits re: attention & dopamine but i do also think it's disengenous to solely blame social media. scrolling tiktok is today's equivalent of channel surfing. low energy entertainment as an industry is way older than smartphones. the root problem isnt Phone Bad, the root problem is unless you are very lucky your life probably isnt structured to give you time and energy to spare for leisure. the problem is we are all so fucking tired. full time job? kids? caring for someone else? do your own housework? disabled? sick? not getting enough sleep or eating enough, stressed, never really resting? no shit we can't focus for long enough to read a book or watch a film we're running on fumes. social media is capitalising on that, not causing it.

[chronicowboy]

PRAYER FOR WEREWOLVES, stephanie burt

[theaceace]

I'm still thinking about this and people seem to like it so here's some more thoughts, also this is getting its own post now as a follow up to this

Dream is the prince of stories and so he knows already how this story is going to end. How it always ends.

He was there, after all, the first time it was lived, the first time it was told, and heard, and sung, and wept over, and dreamt of. And not only that, but he knows every variation - and there have been so many of them over the years. So many twists and turns that have been dreamt of - so many of them by over a thousand people, until all of them were as true as each other from the beginning to the end. The stories are contradictory, but that doesn't matter. They can all be true nonetheless, and not even Dream knows now which was the original.

(He could know. It would be so easy to know. It must be there within the library - within him - gathering dust. He didn't look, even when he could. He chose not to)

There are worlds in which Orpheus looks back in doubt, in which he is afraid that he has been tricked and his love is still deep in Hades. There are versions that have him unable to bear Eurydice's cries, her wails of anguish, and he turns to comfort her even knowing that it will be their doom. There are tales that have him reach the living world, and in his exultation turn to help Eurydice a moment too soon. There are poems in which he looks back believing he is saving them, and songs in which he knows he is dooming them.

Dream wonders, as he follows silently behind Hob, which version this shall be. Just when his old, old friend will succumb to the tale, as he inevitably must. Will they make it as far as the door - will Dream be afforded a glimpse of sunlight, after a century of the dark? Will he see beyond Hob, for that single moment as he turns in the doorway, see out to the Waking, or to his own realm?

Or will Hob surrender before then? He has made it much further than so many of the others, his back straight and his steps sure. He had marched so confidently from the basement that Dream might have been able to overlook the way his hands trembled. The Dreaming will not make it easy - and Dream has not the power to control it while he is still bound within the narrative. The path through the house is clear, but it is long and circuitous - far more so than its Waking counterpart. Hob does not falter at each twist and turn, but Dream knows there will be other tricks and traps.

(Hob hears voices calling from the other room. He hears Eleanor, hears Robyn, hears the voices of all those he has loved and lost in his long life. They cry out to him, beg him to bring them back too, ask him why he didn't ask the Dream Lord for them to be returned to life. You could have asked for anything - why didn't you ask for me?

Because you're gone. Because I loved you and lost you and mourned you and still I chose to live without you! He doesn't call back. Because my friend is the only person I have never had to lose or leave behind! The voices stop eventually, and the house is silent once more but for a single set of footsteps)

(Once, he hears Dream's voice, begging him to turn and look, please, won't Hob look at him? And Hob only scoffs, because even bound naked and caged for over a century, his friend had not begged for Hob's help. He can't imagine his arrogant old stranger ever begging for anything at all. And so, the house falls silent)

Dream had never thought overmuch about the path Eurydice walked as she followed his son from the depths of Hades. Had she wanted to leave that place, as Dream does? Had she felt some piece of herself returning with each dogged step, or had she followed because the gods willed it, and so she obeyed? She had dreamt often of Orpheus, of their life together - she must have loved him then, while she still lived. Had she loved him then, when he came to fetch her, though she was but a cold shade of herself? (She must have, she must have, she must have, Dream thinks, staring at Hob's back. How could she not, when he was the first warmth she had known in that place?)

Had she known? As they climbed, and she stared at her lover (Dream's son) had she known then that it was futile? Had it mattered to her, or had she been content knowing that Orpheus loved her enough to defy the underworld? Had she watched his back as they walked, and known that the next time she saw his face would be the last? She must have forgiven him, of that Dream is sure. She must have understood.

(Dream has already forgiven Hob for his failure. He knows not when it will come, only that it must, and he isn't angry. This story is as much a part of him as any other - how could he resent Hob for playing his part in it so beautifully?)

Dream has never regretted, before, his reticence when Eurydice still lived. He thinks of his son and the mortal girl he had loved, staring at his dear friend's back, and is unsurprised to find himself crying.

Once, as they draw close to the end, he sees Alexander Burgess watching them from behind a half-closed door. He doesn't know if Hob sees him, doesn't know if his steps are unfaltering through sheer force of will. Alexander watches, his facade flickering between that of an old man, the timid thing that had shot Jessamy at the heart of Dream's prison, and the quaking child that had first followed his father through to the basement of the Dreaming house. Dream cannot harm him, of course. As a young man he had asked for safety, and so safety he would have until he left this place, after spending years glancing back like a hunted animal. Even if there should come a time that Dream is freed, he will not break that vow, and Alex will remain as trapped by his cowardice as he ever was.

But - oh. There it is. The door - he had been distracted, and by the time he looks forward again, they have reached it. Hob reaches for the handle, and still he hasn't looked back. He pulls the door open, and still he hasn't looked back. He steps out, into weak morning sunlight, and still he hasn't looked back. He stands, unmoving apart from the way his clenched fists shake, and still he hasn't looked back.

Dream stands, frozen, in the shadows of the doorway, staring out over the threshold. At the light, at the freedom, so very close. A few steps, nothing more. He doesn't understand - this is never how the story goes. All the dreamers that tried to bend it to their will (the idiots that had given it a happy ending) and inevitably it had returned to its true form, over and over. This isn't... He doesn't...

His throat works, his jaw moves, his voice is thick.

"Hob?" He doesn't understand, he doesn't -

And Hob -

End title

[eosofspades]

quick n easy list of gentle coping mechanisms for bad mental health days / neurodivergent understimulation episodes!! some are more applicable to one or the other but when i'm feeling particularly like a tiger in a too-small enclosure i find doing at least a couple of these things helps me so much

drink water. basic, but annoyingly effective

eat a snack. same as above

stretch! even just some laying down stretches like pulling on your arms and knees (in fact, here's a great tiktok series for "depression stretches" and workouts/physical stimulation you can do laying down/without much movement)

music/podcasts/video essays. your favorite playlist you haven't listened to in a while, a podcast you like/have been meaning to start (i listen to podcasts while i'm drawing!)

draw/color! if you don't wanna draw, a coloring book is always fun. i actually prefer kids' ones.

read a book. i prefer physical books bc i know i'll get sucked back into the social media scrolling for hours if i try to read on my phone. i also recommend a nice tea/hot chocolate/juice with this one.

video games. this can be anything from minecraft to destiny 2, but i usually never give myself time for these, even when i have it (stuck in that phone scrolling). a more action-packed game for mental understimulation, maybe a more mellow one for a bad depression episode.

shower. i am fully aware this tends to take a lot of spoons but even just sitting under running water ALWAYS makes me feel better when i can manage it. it also helps me with adhd overstimulation!

clean/organize. this sounds counterintuitive but i actually do enjoy organizing stuff for understimulation, and cleaner workspaces help with the depression. even if it's something as simple as "put all the pencils on the desk back into the pencil cup."

puzzles/brain games. this one is almost exclusively for mental understimulation but once i get going it makes my depression SO MUCH BETTER, TOO. my niche is getting myself some algebra sheets but this can be anything from math to jigsaws to crosswords to word searches!! some kind of problem solving that engages your brain and requires focus. this one is my favorite because i find it really grounding.

playing an instrument. this is in the same vein as the last one! again, my personal niche is the piano, but this could be any sort of thing. in fact this could even be substituted for some kind of alt hobby all together, like knitting or crocheting or something! again, mostly for understimulation, but gives me the serotonin boost to get through the depression stuff as well.

this is all i have for my list, but i'd love for anyone to reblog and add their own stuff!!