#i knew the ending would be depressing but still

[beomiracles]

𝓑𝐋𝓞𝓞𝐃𝓑𝓞𝓤𝐍𝐃

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ Oh, you. So pretty, young and alive. Blood flows within your veins, carrying all the way to your beating heart, the one he can hear from miles away. Your breath hitches when his sharp fangs brush against your neck, your eyes flutter before they widen in fear. — God it drove him insane. ⸝⸝

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 2.5k ་༘࿐

𝓹airing vampire!taehyun x human!reader (f) 𝔀arnings kidnapping, imprisonment, blood drinking, heavy dub-con, reader suffers from depression, mentions of suicide, unprotected sex + creampie, no prep, death threats, reader is terrified for the half of it & taehyun is a cold heartless mf, he nearly kills reader, taehyun develops something that borders on lima syndrome toward the end.

#serene adds ✎.. light snack while I work on my larger projects :3 I'm seriously hoping to finish ttocbg soon, I just need to pull the motivation out of my ass and get to it >-<

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT, READ WARNINGS CAREFULLY.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. 

Yet Taehyun finds himself unable to let you go. He tells himself that it was only out of convenience. To keep a human at home, within the high walls of his estate, it was comfortable. It meant he didn’t have to leave and hunt as often. No, he could satiate himself for a moment, thanks to you. 

Oh, you. So pretty, young and alive. Blood flows within your veins, carrying all the way to your beating heart, the one he can hear from miles away. Your breath hitches when his sharp fangs brush against your neck, your eyes flutter before they widen in fear. — God it drove him insane. 

The first time Taehyun had laid his crimson eyes upon you, he knew that one taste wouldn’t be enough. He would need you for as long as he could. Nothing could quite still his desires like you, and nothing could fuel them the same. — So he kept you. He even tended to your human needs. Taehyun thinks they make you worthless. Unable to suffice a whole day without sleep, needing three meals a day. Not to mention the sunlight you so begged of him to see. 

Humans were high maintenance, he quickly learned that. Still, he was willing to accept those terms, if it meant another taste of you. But Taehyun wasn’t stupid, he knew that he couldn’t just take and take, then there would be nothing left of you. — He would wait. Feed. Then wait again. The wait was damn near agonizing. Your scent was everywhere, clinging to the walls of his home and sinking into the cracks of his floors. 

Sometimes he would leave for days, when the urge to tear you apart completely became too strong. You never questioned his absence, in fact, Taehyun sometimes wondered if you perhaps even enjoyed it. Though he didn’t care for your feelings toward him. They were unimportant. 

You were intimate every now and again. It was unexplainable really. Sometimes he felt like it, others he didn’t. You were the same. You usually cried, glistening tears coating your soft and pretty face, your broken sobs ringing out into the quiet bedroom air. Other times you remained silent, save for the occasional gasp to slip between your lips. — You always thanked him afterward.

Thanked him for sparing your life. 

Your gratitude confused him. Taehyun couldn’t quite understand what about your situation was so appealing. It wasn’t like he was going to kill you. He wanted no, needed you alive. Did you not understand that? Still you begged and pleaded for your life during your first three months there, for days on end you fell to your knees in prayer before him. 

It had been well over a year now, and that had stopped. — But that wasn’t all. Something was different, you were different. Fear had abandoned you completely, and now lingered nothing but an empty shell of the human he’d taken all those months ago. You hardly leave your room, not that you did before, but now you’re even refusing meals. 

Depression, that’s what he thinks it’s called. A state which humans can undergo when they’re not right in the head, or something like that. Taehyun didn’t bother to read up on the matter any further. All he knows is that you’re unhappy. Your skin is slowly turning a greyish hue and your eyes, once filled with terror, now look lifeless. You looked like him. 

It makes your blood taste bitter. And Taehyun hates it. 

He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what will make you happy again. Letting you go was not an option. He wouldn’t trade his source of fulfillment for a mere human’s sake. But he needed to do something about it. — He tries letting you outside more. He walks through his large gardens, eyes trailing your tired figure as you brush past the many blooming flowers. You no longer appeared skittish around him, merely accepting of his ever looming presence. 

When the extra sunlight proves futile he tries new foods, bringing you a greater variety to choose from. But you merely shrug and grab the first thing you see, shoving it in your mouth as you struggle to swallow. It was as if your whole body rejected life itself. — Taehyun grew all the more restless. He even refrained from feeding off of you, allowing you to save your precious blood for a full two months, thinking that it would make a difference. 

You did not get better, and he got worse. 

He’s had enough. There must be something, something he can do to force any other emotion out of you. He doesn’t even dare leave his home for more than a few hours, afraid that you will find a way to end your pathetic human life in his absence. He couldn’t have that. 

So one night, he finds himself stalking up the stairs with the determined and fast strides. His fingers clenched into fists by his sides, his red eyes locked on the door by the far end of the hall. When he reaches it he stops, taking a slow and deliberate breath. It wasn’t like he even needed the air, but the sensation was calming. He exhales. Then he quietly slips inside your room. 

It’s dark, the only source of light is the moon, resting high above the clouds as its glow caresses your bare skin. You slept a lot more these days, and tonight was no different. But Taehyun had held back for long enough, he’d tried to accommodate your every need, he’d been walking on eggshells for over two months and deprived himself of the only thing that kept him on this earth, your blood. 

His cold breath ghosts over your cheek, his fingers light as they trace your arms. He turns you slowly, making you lay flat on your back as he immediately leans down to nose along the juncture of your neck. He’d caught the slow and steady sounds of your heartbeat before he even decided to go upstairs, and now that he was this close, the sound was near pounding in his ears. Blood rushes beneath your warm skin, and Taehyun licks his sharp fangs slowly as he eyes your perfectly healed skin. God it had been ages. 

You stir only when his lips press against your neck. The soft whine rolling off your tongue makes his ears perk and Taehyun can’t contain his smirk as his fangs graze along your supple flesh. Confused and still laced with sleep, you squirm beneath him as you attempt to get away, but Taehyun's grip on your arms is firm as he locks you in place. 

Quickly you realize what was going on, and your body goes limp in his grasp, as if someone had turned on autopilot. For some reason, it makes him waver. A grimace of disgust flickers across his face. This isn’t how he wants it. It’s no fun when you act like this. — His hands are rough as he yanks you off the mattress, bringing you to his face by the collar of your shirt. 

“Do you want to die, is that it?” He snarls, his nose pressed against yours when he speaks. To his surprise, he finds you staring back at him with wide and shocked eyes. He can hear the way your heart rate picks up, and he can feel the rush of blood as adrenaline courses through you. — “I’ll fucking kill you then, how about that?” His sharp fangs glint under the moonlight and Taehyun watches as your expression morphs from confusion to fear. 

Oh how he’d missed that look on you. 

Fervently you shake your head, spluttering out a shaky “N-No..!” Taehyun huffs, shoving you back against the mattress with a harsh push. His tongue is hot against your skin when he drags it across your jaw, and it pleases him when your breath hitches in your throat, just like it did before. He takes one final moment to inhale your scent, to allow himself to get intoxicated by it. 

“I’m going to make it quick for you”, he murmurs as he presses a kiss to the juncture of your neck, sharp teeth poking at your flesh. “A quick and painless death.” It’s the last thing he says before he sinks his fangs into you, relishing in the loud cry you emit as you shake your head. — Fuck, he’d forgotten just how wonderful you tasted, how delirious your blood made him feel. 

Your nails claw at every part of him you can access, the terror evident in the way you try to pry him off. Taehyun doesn’t pay you any mind, all he can think of is how he needs more, more, more, more. He swallows mouthful after mouthful of your blood. And as the warm liquid slips down his throat, he can feel your resistance gradually fade as he quickly drains you of life. 

You’re reduced to a spluttering mess, tears staining your face and your bottom lip trembling as your eyes remain dazed and filled with horror. When you’re on the brink of going unconscious, just barely holding onto yourself, that’s when he pulls back. — Taehyun wasn’t going to kill you. Fuck, you taste far too good for that. But you didn’t have to know that. 

The lower half of his face is coated in a thick layer of your blood and he licks his lips slowly as he watches your bleary eyes search for him. All he meant to do was scare you, and god had it worked. Finally, your face was painted with emotion, you were finally alive again. Oh how he couldn’t be happier. 

“W-Why..?” You choke the word out, your breaths coming out jagged as you blink. He’s not hearing you, his gaze is trained on the way your lips move when you speak, and he’s completely entranced by them. — He leans in to kiss you, something he’d never done before. He would always be too focused on the way you tasted, on the way your tight and warm cunt wrapped around his cock to even think about the act of kissing. 

Tonight was different. He needs to taste your fear, in every way he can. 

He feels you cringe as his bloody tongue slips inside your mouth, he doesn’t care. Hands groping at your waist, he shoves your squirming body back against the mattress. His fingers hook around your sleep-shorts, tugging them down your thighs along with your panties. He’d gotten you an entire closet of assortments to choose from, yet you always picked the most mundane ones. It didn’t matter. 

You yelp against his lips when he suddenly aligns his hard cock with your unprepared cunt. Taehyun breaks the kiss for a brief moment, leaning back to admire your terrified expression. Blood had smeared all over your own face, your blood, he twitches at the sight. — You still think he’s going to kill you. It’s wonderful. He can’t help the sinister smirk that pulls across his lips before he reconnects them with yours. 

He slides inside of you with surprisingly little restraint, his large hand on your hip as he holds you down. The choked sob you emit vibrates on his tongue and Taehyun groans as he feels you clench around him. It was better than ever before. — His gaze drifts to the punctures on your neck, fresh blood spilled from their cuts and he felt himself grow dizzy. 

Taehyun rips himself from the kiss, leaving you gasping for air as you cling onto his shoulders. He’s quick to lap at the crimson liquid, moaning at the taste before he re-opens your barely healed wounds. You whimper when his fangs sink into you a second time that night, it was something he’d never done before. Even Taehyun knows that he should stop by now, that if he takes as much as another drop you might not make it until the following morning. 

But you just taste so good. 

His eyes flutter, hands gripping at your waist with a force that could easily break bones. His hips have set a slow and deliberate pace as he takes his time fucking your tight cunt, making sure that every stroke left your thighs spasming. 

Small, almost inaudible sobs pass your lips and Taehyun withdraws from your neck with a grunt. Fuck he was beginning to grow really tired of you crying. — His rough palm feels gigantic against your soft and wet cheek. The surprisingly intimate movement makes your breath hitch and causes your sob to catch in your throat. 

“I’m not going to kill you”, he huffs. Your already terrified eyes widen tenfold, and Taehyun resist the urge to just finish you off right there, you looked fucking delectable. But he holds off, his free hand moving from your hip and between your legs. 

Taehyun rarely touched you, if ever. He would have you prepare yourself while he fed, it was a lot more convenient that way. Tonight he felt like doing it himself, for reasons he could not explain. — His thumb brushes against your clit, and his eyebrows raise when he feels your cunt clench around him deliciously. A soft moan falls from your lips, the sound is a surprisingly nice change. Taehyun needs to hear it again. 

He touches you with a newfound eagerness, his mouth finding yours as they blend together in a mix of blood and saliva. You tremble beneath him, your hands grabbing at his shoulders, clinging onto him like there was no tomorrow. — You cum around his cock a mere minute later, Taehyun can’t remember if he’d ever brought you to an orgasm before, he doesn’t think so. The way you squeeze around him is far from familiar, yet it makes his head spin. 

His hips snap against yours as he picks up his pace, his brows furrowing when he feels his throbbing cock twitch inside your warm cunt. All of you were so blissfully alive at this moment. Hell, even Taehyun felt alive like this, so closely connected to you, in a way he long ago swore he would never be with a mere human being. 

You moan when he finishes inside of you, you had never done that before. Taehyun finds that he enjoys it. The taste of you linger on his tongue, and the scent of your arousal infiltrates his nostrils, it was far more prominent this time. — Dark crimson eyes find your wide ones when he peers down at you. For the first time, you’re watching him almost expectantly. 

“Thank you.” 

There it is again, your everlasting gratitude toward him. He still cannot understand it, but he figures it doesn’t matter as long as you’re willing to live. 

Willing to live for him. 

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[cherrysurf]

winning you back pt.2

-where haikyu boys try to win back you their ex gf

-this is lwk depressing but maybe it’s bc of the music im listening to rn LMAO

contains; atsumu, tsukishima, kita, sakusa, oikawa, iwaizumi

pt.1 of winning you back here!

atsumu; He still very much has all your pictures on his feed that he never deleted and never will you had to go minimal contact with him because he kept texting you every other day to try to get back together, he still loves you and thinks your gonna be his wife and that this is just a rough patch, so when you post that you’re going to be volunteering at osamu’s restaurant for a charity that osamu is doing for young kids to get into volleyball he takes it upon himself to cancel his practice for that day and go and join you two and begged and forced osamu to make you too work together so he can talk to you, and those dam miya’s being so good and weaseling there way back into life’s, it worked. You two are now talking again. You told him that you wanted to take this slow, but atsumu later that week posted a soft launch of you two at dinner.

tsukishima; tsukishima acts like he’s so nonchalant but no one’s seen him cry over how bad it’s killing him that you can fully ignore him when he’s usually the one doing that. He hates how bad he fucked up so he decided to make a plan to win you back, what does that mean he had to do? work at the same cat cafe as you, at first you weren’t on the same shifts and maybe hanging out with cats was a plus but getting crushed on by other girls wasn’t. Anyways as soon and he saw you two were on the same shift he couldn’t be more happy, it was a slow shift so he used this time to catch up and be very soft and respectful he saw you weren’t fighting back so he was thinking that was a step forward, until later on when a girl came by to order a drink and was clearly flirting with him so tsukishima ignored her, as she said “can i get your number?” you turned to see what he would do all he said was “no i have a girlfriend she’s right there actually, i don’t what gave you the confidence to think you could ask me” he said laughing which left the girl embarrassed and you flustered.

kita; Kita is forever my yearning man. He writes letters for you and sends them, you kept them all because you still didn’t get over him. He thought it was the right choice to let you go but he couldn’t have been more wrong, and I fear kita is the type to have a romantic scene like the movies. So what? anyways he comes by your hour IN THE POURING RAIN. to apologize “i’m sorry im selfish for breaking up with you yn, i just clean up well i forget myself” OOOO YOU END UP SOBBING BC WHO WOULDN'T?! anyways safe to say you kissed in the rain and he won you back

sakusa; stubborn ass ho. He was shocked when you broke things off even more when you actually stood on business, sakusa was one to keep his composure and not crashout but he couldn’t understand why he was so affected by the breakup it’s like his whole life flipped upside down. He even stopped keeping up with himself for a bit which was totally out of the norm. So when you saw him at your apartment in the lates of the night messy hair, wrinkles in his clothes looking dead you knew something was wrong, he almost felt like he could breathe again once you embraced him, disgusting and all and he didn’t let go since and tried to change for the better

oikawa; He acted happy at first like it didn’t matter because he thought you needed him more than he needed you. Oh how wrong he was, the fan girls didn’t support him the way you did, didn’t cheer for him the way you did, no one could cook as good as you, no one could get him out his depression like you could, so one night around 4am he gave you a call wanting to quit volleyball because he felt like he couldn’t do anymore without you there, which broke your heart because you saw how bad he was struggling without you there and that’s when he finally admits “I needed you more than you needed me. Come back yn, i’m sorry” and you did because you needed him just as much as he needed you.

iwaizumi; it was mutual breakup but not really he just did whatever he could to make you happy he hated fighting with you, he never deleted your pictures, he still kept all your stuff that you didn’t take at his house, he was still loyal even if you weren’t together, He blamed himself for not fighting back. he became very very career oriented that’s when he saw you at a job interview, you had just finished interviewing for the place he works at as a sports medical assistant. you weren’t aware he was working there so he stopped you and asked to get lunch since you were leaving and he was on his lunch break. That's where he apologized for not doing more and still thought about you and asked for a redo and would do anything for a second chance, and you agreed because you felt the same.

tags; @solarvrse (for the atsumu one) @sahrii (for the iwaizumi one)

[teklarn]

devoted little thing, pt 1. - j. todd

masterlist!

jason todd x fem!reader

link to the fic on AO3 -> here

genre: angst (series)

summary: After the death of your boyfriend, Jason Todd, your life has never been the same. You abandon everything you've ever known: your job working for Batman as a detective, your home, your friends. That is until three years after his death, your life is saved by a mysterious vigilante calling himself the Red Hood.

You assume it was a one-off; that the infamous anti-hero just happened to be in the right place at the right time. But you're finding his calling card everywhere. He's around every single corner―you can't seem to get rid of him. The mystery of his identity brings you back to Bruce in hopes of finding out who he is. But as intimidating as the Red Hood is, with his blurry morals and all, you can't help but find yourself falling for him.

Your devotion to your late lover, Jason, is strong, but it feels so nice to be touched again―how could you say no to the man who saved your life?

warnings: non canon compliant, heavy themes of depression and anxiety, slight yandere themes to come, slight stalking, suicidal thoughts, heavy angst, death, unedited.

-

He had always been angry. So damn angry. At you, at the world, at Bruce. 

And you knew, dammit. You had known deep down that his anger would cost him dearly one day. 

You just didn't think it would put him in the ground. 

Tears erupted from your eyes like a waterfall, Bruce and Alfred the only other people present as they dropped your beloved into the ground, his youthful face illuminated by the silver moonlight spilling over the graveyard. The three of you stayed silent. What was there to say? At any other funeral, people would say the usual: He died too young. His life still has meaning. He's looking down on us right now. He'll guide you. 

Damn it all. Damn everything. As you stared at that coffin, the dark wood splattered with raindrops violently crashing down, you couldn't help the anger boiling in your veins. Sad as you were, you couldn't help but think to yourself: Was I not enough? Not enough to stop him from chasing his anger down into a well. A pit of darkness so deep and inescapable even you couldn't pull him out of it. 

Bruce rests a hand on your shoulder, lifting the umbrella higher to further shelter you from the violent downpour. You pretend not to notice the way his cheeks are rosy from the cold, or how his eyes are watering the longer he stares at the grave. 

Death curls its bony fingers around your throat―it whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Once upon a time, you'd been just like Jason. Alone on the streets, an orphan with no direction in life. But cursed with a talent for solving any mystery you could get your hand on, Bruce welcomed you into his family, where you had met Jason. Someone who knew what it was like to be alone. Someone with the same resentment towards the world. The only person who understood you was in the ground now. And, just hours before his death, you had fought. 

Jason was no easy-going boy. There were some days where you pondered that perhaps Jason liked to bicker with you. He liked the thrill of fighting, of winning. Your relationship was perfect by no means, but it wasn't toxic. Not until his anger got the best of him, like it had hours before his death. The fight had started like many others and had ended the same way: with him storming out the door, cheeks reddened with fury, hints of tears glinting in his eyes. 

On any normal day, you would have chased after him. Told him not to run away from his problems. He would have returned with a scowl on his face, but at least he would still be home. It was the one time you didn't chase after him. The one time you let him slip away. 

And dammit, the guilt was stabbing your gut like rusty knives. 

You resisted the urge to shove Bruce's hand off your shoulder, instead opting for the respectful option of turning away, claiming you just needed space. Which wasn't entirely a lie. You didn't want to be near Bruce, nor Alfred, but if they hadn't been standing at Jason's grave, you would have stayed there and cried all night. Until your eyes were puffy, until the rain left you a shivering, soaking mess. Until Death came to claim you itself. 

Back inside, when Bruce and Alfred finally rejoined you, you'd already showered and changed into a dry pair of clothes. It had taken all the strength left inside your soul to take care of yourself. To not throw yourself onto your bed and drown beneath the plush sheets. 

You couldn't look Bruce in the eye. The fire flickered, casting shadows on his harsh features, the flames dancing across the walls. His eyes were angry. His eyes looked like Jason's. 

On long, hard days, Jason would rant about Bruce. About his antics, his supposed cowardice, his lack of courage when it came to doing the hard thing over the right thing. On those days, you yearned to tell Jason that he looked just like Bruce. That the only real difference between them was that Bruce would choose his morals over everything. 

Now, Bruce's eyes darkened. There was hate behind them. Thoughts swarming, filled with white-hot anger that mirrored your own. That same anger that mirrored Jason's. You couldn't do it. You could barely keep yourself on your feet. 

"Is everything all right?" Alfred asked, his gaze averting from his master to you. The wrinkles in his face made you sick. It felt wrong to see someone so old, so wise, someone who had lived life to the fullest of years. In fifty years, Jason should look just like Alfred. With wrinkles and smile lines pressed deep into his features. Crows feet should crinkle at the edges of his eyes and his smile should reflect accomplishment. 

You tried to shove the image from your head, but staring at Bruce and Alfred was like looking at future versions of the man you loved. The man you'd just buried underground mere hours ago. 

Blinking away tears, you waved off the poor butler. "I have to go. I'm sorry." 

Weeks later, you felt entirely, hopelessly useless. And Bruce had allowed you to rot. Your bed was your only comfort aside from your imagination. You'd pull your pillows close, running your hands over the smooth cases, digging your fingers into the wrinkles the same way you'd fist Jason's shirt when he'd hold you. Bruce's disciplined antics hadn't ceased, but he was shockingly understanding. 

Well, maybe not shockingly. To him, he'd lost a son. To you, you'd lost a best friend, a lover, a soulmate. Whatever your naive little mind could conjure up. Jason was everything. 

As the days dragged on, your anger subsided. All you wanted was him, now. One more minute to apologize for your attitude, one more second just to run your fingers over his olive-toned skin. Just a moment. One fleeting, desperate moment to say three words: "I love you." 

Your mind was a prison of grief, your body was a shell housing a half-dead soul. Periodically, Alfred came in to set plates of food on your nightstand. Your mouth watered, but the food remained untouched for the most part. Guilt prodded at your stomach. Bruce should find a way to drag you out of bed. He should force you to stop mourning; to find a distraction. Perhaps a new case for you to dive into. 

You felt like throwing up. 

Just the image of Bruce's face brought back the image of Jason's. An older, colder version of Jason hardened by the vices of the world. And Alfred, sweet Alfred could place a reason as to why you refused to look at him, too. 

It was all because of Jason. Because he deserved to live, to be old and die old. He deserved to be ninety and to rot away in some hospice, waiting for death to greet him like an old friend. His hairline would be receded and his face would be marred with age spots and freckles from years of baking under the sun. 

"Miss?" A knock at your door sounded, and the familiar voice of Bruce's friendly butler flooded your ears. 

A quiet sob slipped past your lips. Loneliness was consuming you like a disease, but who could you talk to that would be worth your time? Who would understand you, who would bring you back to life the way he always knew how to? 

A soft, "Mhm?" was all you could manage. 

You heard Alfred peel the door open with a creak, and the smell of steaming hot food invaded your nostrils, the mouth-watering spices wafting into your room and filling the space with warmth and love. He set the plate down on your nightstand, exchanging it for your un-touched dinner from the night before. 

"Master Wayne is requesting your presence. Would you...care to join him after breakfast?" The hesitance in Alfred's voice made your guilt ten times worse. You were bloated with regret and sadness―it was spilling through your mouth, your eyes. Your very being was drenched with remorse. 

"I can join him now," you say weakly. You didn't care much to make yourself presentable. Bruce had known both you and Jason's since you were children. You'd both been welcomed into the family under the same circumstances. Jason, being only a few years older than you, had been the first to make you feel truly at home. Everything seemed to revolve around Jason and it made you so...so angry. 

"He insists you take your time getting ready." The gentleness in Alfred's tone told you everything he meant to portray. Take all the time you need. There's something important he needs to tell you. 

When the door clicks shut, you don't know how, but you manage to crawl out of bed. The feeling of your feet on the scratchy carpet is foreign, even the hot water running down your body feels like a new sensation when you're able to drag your ass into the shower. Damn, how long had it been since you last washed up? 

The depression had a chokehold on you. It had sunk its teeth and nails bone-deep, slowly slurping the life from your veins. Your body obeyed nothing but sloth. It was a shock even to yourself that you had offered to meet Bruce downstairs. 

By the time you wipe the steam off the mirror and see yourself, you look the same as you had the day you buried Jason. Your eyes are still painfully puffy, your skin dry from tears dragging down your cheeks. You throw on suitable but casual clothing, and you have to admit, it feels nice to put yourself together after spending weeks sinking into your mattress, practically binding your body to it. 

Downstairs, Bruce is already waiting. Alfred has your coat ready. Your footsteps halt on the stairs as hesitance builds its way through your body. You can still barely look at Bruce without seeing Jason. You train your eyes on Alfred instead, hoping that you'll find his wrinkled face easier to bear. 

"What's going on?" Your voice cuts through the silence, echoing painfully along the empty walls of the manor. 

Bruce sighs, but you keep your eyes down or on Alfred. You can't look at him. You really can't. He takes your jacket from Alfred and holds the arms out for you. "We're relocating you." 

"What? Relocating me? What does that mean?" Confusion ebbs its way into your mind. 

"Both Alfred and I have concluded that it isn't healthy for you to stay here anymore. You need something new. Something―" 

You cut Bruce off. "What the hell do you mean by relocating me?" 

Alfred straightened. "There's an apartment Master Wayne has purchased within the city. We thought it might be better for you to be surrounded by people. There might be an opportunity for you to―" 

"To what? I don't need to be moved, I'm fine where I am. What about all the cases I've solved in the past? You don't think I'm fit to do it anymore?" You knew they were only trying to help. That this was the only way they knew how after you'd completely shut down. But your anger couldn't be snuffed out. This outburst was new. It wasn't you. "What? Are you trying to get rid of me? Am I too much of a reminder of him? Don't try to run away from your issues again, Bruce." 

You didn't want to say this. You didn't want to be so...mean. But dammit, your mouth was moving too fast for you to think. Even when Alfred and Bruce's faces flickered with sympathy and a strange sense of understanding, you didn't stop your insults. 

"I don't need to move. I don't need to run away." Your brows knit together in anger. 

"Then what do you need?" Bruce dared to ask. 

"I..." Your voice caught in your throat. I want Jason, I want his comfort. I want his words, his arms, his love and unconditional understanding. 

Bruce's stern features tightened. Instead of the father-figure you'd come to know, he was just a businessman right now. Cold, calculating, demanding. The strength it took you to meet his gaze was all you needed to snatch your coat and toss yourself into his vehicle.

The apartment wasn't shaggy, but it was homey. It felt much warmer than the emptiness you'd been accustomed to back at the estate. The ride here had been riddled with painful silence, you nor Bruce or Alfred daring to speak. A part of you wanted to apologize for your outburst. It wasn't their fault, they were just trying to help. You knew damn well that was the truth. 

One bathroom, one bedroom, a generous kitchen, and a balcony three stories up, overlooking the trash-littered street below. Gotham wasn't a beautiful place, but maybe it was just what you needed. To be around people, surrounded by the environment of people just as lost and as broken as you. 

The lack of elegance made you appreciate the apartment that much more. Bruce knew you didn't need anymore empty space to fill. And this...this was what you needed. 

Still, some wretched part of you couldn't stand the thought of decisions being made for you. You wanted someone to blame, someone to yell at. Something to take out your anger on. 

"We'd like to keep in touch." Bruce handed you a transmitter. One of his high-tech ones made just for you. It was an order, not a request. You snatched the transmitter from his calloused hands and stuffed it away. 

"How do you know I'm not going to kill myself now that no one is watching me?" You snickered. Your chuckle was humorless. It was a painful truth they hadn't thought of. Or...they had, judging by the tension pulling on their features. 

You didn't want to ask how or why. 

Don't make this about you, you scolded yourself. Gray emotions swirled within you. 

"We'll deliver your things tomorrow morning. Just allow yourself to get settled in." Alfred nodded to the transmitter. "If you need anything―anything at all―don't hesitate to reach out. This will be good for you." 

You must have pushed the awkward farewells from your mind, because somehow you ended up on the floor of your new apartment, sobbing at the emptiness. The void of your new home felt like a region in outer space that even an alien wouldn't belong to. Your mixed emotions, the pain running through your chest, it was all a constant reminder of what you lost, of who you were haunted by. Of the person you'd never see again. 

The emptiness inside of you was a permanent reminder of the person you had once loved the most, and how he had died thinking you were angry at him. 

This is good for me, you reminded yourself. 

Tears spilled from your eyes. 

This is good for me.

-

link to the fic on AO3 -> here

[auguryofjellyfish]

i read something that made me think deeper about Kamimura's death and how i feel about it....Tsuno's death left me catatonic on friday because i love her deeply, but Kamimura's got wedged in my gut like a shard of glass. or: why Kamimura's death feels worse to me than Tsuno's.

it mostly comes down to the matter of his potential as a person and the circumstances of his death put together.

Tsuno…she had already found herself. just as some other characters, we have met her after she had already grown into herself, and "completed her arc". she knew who she wanted to be and worked tirelessly to uphold that ideal. she had loving family and friends and lived her best life, one that brought her fulfillment. she kept being herself in the killing game. connecting, caring, and loving with all her heart. she remained true to herself until the end.

she died doing what she's always have…trying her best. losing her is deeply tragic because she shone so brightly in life. she didn't manage to do everything she wanted, and it's not like she didn't have problems or flaws, she could have grown further. she didn't die with 0 regrets. it's not like she was done, no, nowhere near. but she was complete.

but..Kamimura... what…did he have? years of suffering and depression, multiple suicide attempts, shaky and uncertain future. barely any family, no friends. Kamimura entered the killing game having almost nothing. but that's not the worst thing.

it's that he was just starting to grow. the killing game and the motives made him absolutely miserable but at the same time...he was starting to form positive relationships. he had started to accept at least some level of support, after years of having to be independent. and obviously, there's Ken- who, if they all had gotten out, would 100% have stayed in Kamimura's life.

he contemplated his life and his dreams. he set a goal. even if small, he was still looking forward. he was starting to become more connected, to gain things he didn't have before...ever so slowly, he was starting to change...and i'm sure, despite his cynicism and ever-present struggle, despite the possibility of dying at any moment...that deep down, the littlest seed of hope for his future was just starting to grow.

and then he died.

it's not only him. it's also his massive unrealized potential. unexpressed feelings, unsaid words. un-lived life. he didn't manage to build a life that brought him satisfaction. he didn't…he didn't manage to do a single thing with his life that he wanted. he was nowhere near his full potential. he died as he lived and he's just gone and he got NOTHING. JUST after he was presented with the hope of his life possibly becoming different.

if Tsuno was at her best, a beautiful tree in full bloom cut short, then Kamimura was a little sappling slowly unfurling, and then getting stomped on and set on fire.

and you know what the worst part is? it didn't need to happen.

none of the previous deaths needed to happen, but they were forced to. this time, nobody snapped. nobody made a mistake, it was an active choice. there was NO good reason for him and Tsuno to die. just one person's selfishness, not even only to save their own hide but to also cause suffering. Tsuno's death was senseless and cruel but compared to Kamimura she at least retained some dignity. he didn't HAVE to be disrespected even in death, body torn apart and desacrated, like he was NOTHING. but he was, for the sake of a convoluted ass bullshit fucking plan.

yes, someone would have to die eventually with this motive. yes, not traumatizing hasegawa this badly thus incapacitating him would have added more risk for the culprit. idgaf. i'm not this upset that he died per se, it's that he died like this without being granted peace in death, with Hasegawa and everyone else unable to say proper goodbye because Kamimura's body's in fucking pieces.

[aylacavebear]

Watermelon Crawl

You knew Dean didn’t like country music. The man had a love affair with the same five cassettes that he played on repeat any time he was in his Baby. If he wasn’t listening to one of those, he was hunting for a classic rock station on the radio. You knew the rules, Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. You knew the rules, but that didn’t stop you from attempting to listen to other stuff. Pushing Dean’s boundaries wasn’t the smartest idea, and he always gave you that glare whenever you tried. There were rare occasions when Sam would drive and let you fiddle with the radio, but it was only the two of you, so to you, it didn’t count.

Dean x OCF Reader/You

Word Count: 5777

Warnings: Angst, Longing, Fluff, Reader Insecurities, Dean being Dean.

----------------------------------------- A few times, you had tried to talk to Dean about other music, but he would just hold his hand up to stop you, not even looking at you. It was his way of ending the conversation without it ever getting started. You even tried playing music in your room, extra loud so he could hear it. His response, he’d go into his room, put his headphones in, and turn on his music. Half the time, he left the door open, just so he could smirk at you that he couldn’t hear your music over his, making sure to mouth the words to you. The other half of the time, he’d just smirk when he did that.

It was infuriating and had been going on for nearly six months now, and you were somewhat dumbfounded about how to get him to listen to at least one song. His argument was that country music was depressing and slow. The whole ‘tear in my beer’ sort of bias about it. Sam found your insistence and Dean’s instant shut-down somewhat amusing the longer it went on.

Now, the three of you were sitting in a bar after a case. It’d been successful, and this time, the three of you hadn’t had the crap beat out of you. So, it was time to celebrate. However, the moment the three of you had entered, you smiled but Dean was instantly in a sour mood.

“Hope the whiskey isn’t as crappy as the music,” Dean grumbled as he slid onto one of the barstools. 

You just frowned. Why does he have to be so damned stubborn? And, as you slid onto your barstool next to him, your mind began working overtime. You needed to figure out a song that would really get his attention, help him see that country wasn’t as bad as he thought it was. The downside, half the time, you couldn’t remember the name of the song, and the other half of the time, you couldn’t remember the artist. And inbetween that, sometimes all you could remember were certain lyrics to the song.

So, there you were, sitting at the bar and staring at the counter while all sorts of words sped through your mind. You were so lost in thought while trying to place a song with just the three words from the chorus that you didn’t notice the beer that had been set down in front of you, or how both brothers were staring at you.

Dean had ordered, like he typically did. Whiskey for him, and a beer for each you and Sam. Sam had even lifted his beer and said, “To a successful hunt.” But you hadn’t heard, and now both of them were staring at you. Sam had to lean forward so he could see around Dean, though. 

“Hey, you okay?” Dean asked, slightly concerned at the far-off look in your eyes.

His voice made your head snap up, blinking blankly at him for a moment. “Yeah, I’m okay. I was just lost in thought,” you replied, repeating those three words in your head so you wouldn’t forget them so you could try to remember the song they went to.

Neither of the brothers were sure they should believe you. “You sure?” Sam asked, just as concerned as Dean.

“Yeah. I was just lost in thought,” you repeated, still repeating those three words in your head, wishing they’d let you get back to the conundrum in your mind.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, a silent but concerned conversation passing between them before Sam held his beer up again, “It was a successful hunt, and no one got hurt. To a win.” He smiled a little, but was still concerned with what would have you so lost in thought.

You smiled, raising your beer as Dean raised his whiskey glass. “To a successful hunt,” you repeated happily before your glasses clanked together, and each of you took a drink.

Then, you were right back in your head, mentally cursing at yourself for forgetting those three words you’d been repeating. So, you pulled out your phone, opened your notes app and began typing things out that you could remember. Dean tried to glance over your shoulder, but you moved so he couldn’t see. The brothers watched you as you typed and sipped your beer, concern etched in their features, but you didn’t notice.

Even back at the bunker, you only waved good night over your shoulder as you went to your room, your phone still in hand. Once inside your room, you changed into pajamas, let your hair out of its braid, then plopped onto your bed and continued the list you’d been working on.

The two had stopped halfway through the war room, watching as you walked off. With how you had hidden your phone from them, they would have thought it was due to you talking to a guy, but you hadn’t dated anyone since you had started hunting with them. “What do you think has her so quiet?” Sam asked, still staring toward the hallways where you disappeared down.

Dean stood there, just like Sam, staring down the hallway. He’d been trying to figure that very thing out since back at the bar. “Well, it’s not the case. And she’s not dating anyone, so it’s not a guy. I honestly don’t know.” 

For a moment, Sam tried to put the pieces together but was still clueless. “Maybe she’ll be up for talking tomorrow,” he offered before finally heading to his room for the night.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean murmured before following Sam, both ready to finally get some much-needed rest.

—---------------------

Over the next several months, while not on cases, you spent your time making a list of country songs that were upbeat, suggestive, or just plain fun. It was a decent list, and you were quite proud of yourself. Now the question was, which song would you use to try to get Dean into country music? 

The brothers had tried to talk to you, find out what had you so completely focused on, but you brushed them off. You could tell they were worried. However, you weren’t ready at the time to tell either of them what you’d been up to. You knew Dean would have instantly shot you down, and Sam would have lost it laughing. 

“I’m going for a supply run,” Dean stated, getting up from his seat in the library, but you didn’t respond, concerning him further.

Sam glanced over at you; your entire focus was on your laptop in front of you. You’d turned it slightly so neither could just look over to see what you were up to. “Kitten, you gonna go with him?” Sam asked, concerned. You always went on supply runs so you could get a sweet at the store.

You looked up, a little puzzled, only having half heard both of them. “No. I’m good,” you replied plainly before returning your focus to the screen in front of you.

Dean and Sam exchanged another worried look, then they both looked at you, trying desperately to figure out what the hell you were so focused on. “But, you always go on supply runs,” Sam pointed out, this time, you heard his concern and met his gaze.

“I just really need to work on this. You know that if I walk away from it mid-focus, I’ll forget where I was at, and it’ll take me an hour to figure it out,” you told them apologetically, hoping they’d both understand.

It was true, and they both knew it. Just one of your weird little quirks that they both found cute some times, and annoying other times. “Do you want me to grab you anything?” Dean asked, a little dejected that you weren’t going with him. He loved it when it was just the two of you, but he’d never admit that to you or Sam.

“Pie?” you asked, already back to what you’d been doing.

Dean sighed as his shoulders slumped a little. You missed how his lips slowly turned downward before he walked off to the garage. Sam watched him go, then listened as the Impala drove away. “Alright, spill,” he told you bluntly, his gaze now on you.

Slowly, you lifted your head and looked at him over your laptop. Being short was a bit of a perk, since, right now, all he could see was from the bridge of your nose and above. “Promise not to tell Dean?” you asked apprehensively.

Sam’s brow raised in curiosity. “Depends on what it is.”

“Nothing bad,” you replied.

“Then I can promise not to tell him,” he told you, sitting up a little more as he leaned on the table.

You looked down at the screen, then back up at Sam. “I’m trying to find a country song that would get Dean to at least listen to the song,” you began explaining, then got a little quiet. “...and maybe even like it.”

Sam stared at you, blinking blankly for a moment before he erupted in laughter. You instantly deadpanned, leaned back in your chair, and crossed your arms while attempting to wait patiently till he stopped laughing. 

His hand was now over his chest, attempting to catch his breath. What you were attempting sounded utterly absurd to him; Dean, liking county music. The thought alone made him laugh again. Sam’s eyes teared up the longer his laughter lasted, only annoying you.

“I was serious, Sam,” you told him bluntly when his laughter died down enough that he’d hear you.

He instantly froze, mostly from surprise. You were serious. Sam cleared his throat, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. “Okay,” he replied, drawing the word out a little, trying to get you to elaborate.

Sam was like a brother to you, and since he seemed interested, you perked up, getting a little excited to tell him about your ‘plan.’ “So, I have been making a list of all the country songs that are upbeat, suggestive, and just plain fun. I want to pick one from the list and learn the dance to it. Then, now with your help, set it up so that Dean can’t get out of not only hearing the song but also seeing the dance and how much fun country music really can be,” you explained quite excitedly.

He wasn’t sure how to react to what you’d said. The mere thought of Dean staying in any place for the length of a country song sounded impossible. Although he’d seen the way Dean would watch you when you’d walk away or when you had your nose stuck in a book helping them with research, so he thought your idea might just work. Sam moved from across the table to the seat next to you. “Alright, I don’t know much about country music, but I’ll try to help,” he offered with a genuine smile, bringing a smile to your lips that went all the way to your eyes.

You then began emphatically showing him the playlist you had made on youtube of the songs, then on the dances for each one. Sam watched intently. You’d done your research, but that was something you had always been good at. Luckily for the two of you, Dean took his time on the supply run, half-lost in his thoughts about what was going on with you.

“Watermelon Craw, definitely,” Sam chuckled after watching the dance for it.

Looking over at him, you tilted your head a bit, “Why that one?” 

“Well, I just think it’s the best one to get him thinking a bit more about country music,” he replied, stifling a knowing smile that was toying with his lips.

You looked from him back to the laptop. It wasn’t a difficult dance. “Okay. But you gotta help me figure out how to set it up so that Dean will stay put long enough for the whole song.” “I can do that. You just focus on learning the moves, Kitten,” Sam chuckled, already devising a plan.

By the time Dean got back, Sam was in the library alone. “Gonna help unload?” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam replied, getting up from his seat. “Y/N! Come help unload,” he hollered, already heading toward the garage.

“So, you find out what’s been up with her?” Dean asked quietly as they grabbed bags out of the Impala.

Sam loaded several bags into his hands, “Yeah. She’s working on something for you. It means a lot to her. So, don’t be a dick when she goes to show you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, you were working on something, for him? “I think I can do that,” he replied fairly nonchalantly, grabbing several more bags. At least she’s not upset. Whether he would admit it or not, he’d been worried about you since that night at the bar.

That was about when you finally showed up in the garage, wearing your typical pair of jeans and some random shirt with a flannel pulled over it. With how big the two of them were, you had to wait till they moved before you could grab anything. Dean gave you a gentle smile before he and Sam headed to the kitchen.

You were just as stubborn as they were when it came to trips back and forth to the car, so loaded up with almost as many bags as they had grabbed before joining them. Dean watched you as you began putting things away. If he was being honest with himself, you hadn’t looked upset over the last month, just… focused, and perhaps even determined. Now, though, you looked relaxed.

He wanted to ask you about whatever this thing was you were working on for him, but with how Sam had told him, he couldn’t. Clearly, whatever it was, you wanted to surprise him with it. Dean loved watching you when you were relaxed like this. You typically had a small smile on your lips and a softness in your eyes, no matter what task you were doing.

Sam, clearing his throat, quickly pulled Dean’s attention. He’d been staring too long again, and again, Sam had caught him. Dean gave him the ‘don’t say a word’ look while Sam just smiled and shook his head in amusement. You were oblivious to it, though. Your focus was on organizing the spices since Dean had remembered to grab the ones that were low.

—---------------------------

You spent all your free time in your room over the next four months practicing the moves for the song. Well, most of your free time. You still hung out with the brothers, having movie nights or goofy drinking games. When you were finally ready to put your ‘plan’ into action, you let Sam know. He had even covered for you to grab the couple of things for the outfit that you didn’t own.

Now, you were standing in front of your mirror, feeling like you looked ridiculous. Typically, you never wore shorts unless they were bed shorts, and even in those, you never left your room in them. You owned shorts, you had just never worn them in front of either of the brothers. The ones you were currently wearing were jean cut-offs, easily resembling daisy dukes. Then there was the top, a red and white plaid button-up that tied so it was more of a half-top with short sleeves. It wasn’t that it looked bad or anything; it just showed off your mid-drift, and your belly-button piercing. That was also something neither of the brothers knew about. This particular one was a skull and crossbones.

The hat was a nice, plain brown cowboy hat to match the knee-high cowboy boots. You’d left your hair down, but it didn’t seem functional. So, you thought about how a girl would have her hair if she was doing things on a farm or ranch, even if she was wearing a hat. With that, you set the hat on your bed and put your hair up in a braid before returning the hat to your head.

Well, it looks better, at least.

It wasn’t that your goal was to seduce Dean or anything like that. Yeah, you liked him, far more than you’d admit. But he was a hunter, and you weren’t human. So you had completely pushed any idea of anything with him out of your mind. 

I still look stupid.

You never dressed like this, ever. Then again, you really wanted Dean to see that some country music was fun and not all of it was the ‘tear in your beer’ sort of music. You hadn’t even let Sam see what you were wearing. The last thing you wanted to hear was him teasing you. With a determined breath, you pulled out your phone and sent a text to Sam. “I’m ready.”

“I’ll text you when I’m outside.”

Less than ten minutes later, your phone buzzed again with another message from Sam.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” One more glance in the mirror, then you sent a text to Dean. “Can you meet me in the library? I want to share something with you.”

Dean had been relaxing in his room for most of the morning, and now Sam was gone on a supply run, and you’d basically locked yourself in your room for the last nearly hour. So, when his phone went off with your notification sound, he picked it up, curious and puzzled. That only got worse after he read your text.

“Sure.” 

He closed his laptop and headed out of his room while you listened at your door to his boots as they went down the hallway. When he rounded the corner into the library, it was empty, save for a note sitting on the closest table. Please just give me three minutes of your time, and if you still hate it, I’ll never ask again.

Y/N Now, he was really puzzled, but before he had any time to contemplate what the note meant, he heard a familiar tune coming from the war room. It was a tune he’d heard you listen to before. Dean hadn’t even noticed that your speaker had been placed on the table. He did hear your steps in the hallway, getting louder the closer you got. 

He knew how much you enjoyed an array of music, and you always wanted to share it with him and Sam. Most times, he wasn’t in the mood. That was typically due to your timing on the matter. At the bunker, he just loved messing with you. Half the time when you’d turn your music on, he’d put his headphones in but wouldn’t turn on his music so he could hear yours and watch you dance around your room. He just couldn’t tell you that.

Typically, you wore your shoes or went around in socks. The sound he heard from your footsteps was neither of those, and he couldn’t pull his gaze from the hallway. The moment you came into view, he swallowed hard before his mouth went completely dry. You never showed skin, like, ever. His arms were crossed, an unreadable expression on his face as you entered the war room, your steps on par with the beat of the song. Then, you began dancing, your eyes on Dean the whole time. You were a little self-conscious as your thighs jiggled a little as you moved, but you tried to focus more on the moves and not that. Technically, the song was a line dance, but you had added your own flare to it, along with doing the “watermelon crawl” mentioned in the song.

Dean looked you up and down, slowly, and the thoughts that began playing through his mind were far more detailed than anything his imagination had come up with before. The way your thighs jiggled had him wanting to knead your flesh or burry his face between them and make them jiggle for an entirely different reason.

When the band started playin' The watermelon queen said “Let me show you somethin’ That you ain’t never seen” She grabbed me by the arm said “Come on let's go” She dipped down, spun around, and do-si-doed She rocked back on her heels Dropped down to her knees Crawled across the floor Then she jumped back on her feet She wiggled and she jiggled Beat all you ever saw Said this is how you do The Watermelon crawl

Thankfully, the music was loud, or you would have heard the groan that made it past his lips when you did everything in the song except grab him by the arm. He couldn’t move, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. It was when you jumped back on your feet that the light in the library bounced off your belly button piercing that made his lips part slightly.

When the song came to an end, you were standing at the foot of the stairs in the war room. Your breathing was a little heavy from the exertion of dancing, but you had a small smile on your lips. It quickly faded when you looked over at Dean. He hadn’t moved a single muscle.

He couldn’t move. It was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to pin you against the wall before carrying you to his bed. “Done?” he asked, far gruffer than he meant to, and he instantly regretted it when he saw your expression fall further.

A sad sigh slipped out your nose as your lips formed a small pout, “Yeah,” you mumbled. Then you turned, head dipping a bit, grabbed your speaker, and went to your room.

The moment you were out of sight, Dean set his hands on the library table, using it as balance as he attempted to fight with his throbbing cock. I swear, that woman has no idea what she does to me. He took several slow, deep breaths, trying to shake the images of you dancing from his mind. I’m never going to be able to even hear that song again without thinking of her. 

Once in your room, you changed into comfy sweats and a slightly baggy shirt, then plopped down on your bed. “You can come back in Sam. I’m done.” 

“How’d it go?” he texted right back since he was only sitting outside the bunker.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Sam was instantly concerned, pocketing his phone and making his way into the bunker. He found Dean, still in the same position, leaning on the table, his breathing still a little heavy and clearly lost in thought.

“Dude, you okay?” Sam asked, now a little worried about his brother too.

Dean’s head snapped up, not expecting his brother to show up so quickly. “Yeah, I’m good,” he lied, his voice that octave deeper.

“Funny. You don’t look so good,” Sam told him, daring to take a few more steps closer.

Dean sighed, then leaned his back against the table. “She got to me, alright. You could have at least given me a heads up as to what she was going to wear.” Sam furrowed his brow, a little confused. “She didn’t even show me what she was going to wear.”

“Did you know she has a skull and cross bones belly button piercing?” Dean mused as a smile began tugging at the corner of his lips.

That was when Sam chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Nope. You need to talk to her, though. She thinks you’re mad at her,” he explained. Even if you hadn’t said it, it was clear to Sam how you were feeling.

“And what the hell am I supposed to say to her?” Dean asked, almost reluctant to ask.

“Tell her the truth,” Sam suggested gently, knowing how long his brother had been attempting to hide his feelings for you.

Dean hung his head. The last thing he wanted you to believe was that he was mad at you. He glanced at the hallway, then took a deep breath before heading in that direction. Sam wished him good luck before he took those couple of steps down into the war room.

The closer he got to your room, the faster his heart sped up and the more the butterflies danced around in his stomach. Dean was never good with words. Well, he wasn’t good with these sorts of words, but for you, he’d at least try.

The hesitant knock on your door pulled your attention from your laptop, but you went over and opened it anyway. You figured it would have been Sam to come console you and get you to talk about how it had gone. You were not prepared to see Dean standing there, looking… nervous.

He couldn’t quite meet your eyes, knowing how dejected you had looked when you walked away earlier. “I’m sorry, about… earlier,” he told you, quieter than you were used to hearing him.

You looked up at him, a little puzzled, even if you were still feeling dejected. “Why? I know you don’t like country music. It’s my fault for pushing you,” you told him, doing your best to keep your emotions out of your words. You really didn’t want his pity.

His eyes instantly met yours. “No. Don’t do that. It’s not your fault. And you didn’t push me, so don’t go thinking like that,” he told you, a little sterner than he meant to. Then, he let out a sigh as he ran a hand down his face.

“Can I come in?” he asked, the guilt that had been weighing him down slipped into his words.

You weren’t sure what he was trying to get at, but you moved to let him in anyway. He was still your friend, after all. You sat down near your headboard again while he took a seat at the foot of your bed, his gaze on the floor while his arms rested on his thighs.

“I’m sorry, for not saying anything earlier. I honestly didn’t know what to say,” he began, still unsure how to tell you what was going through his head or how he felt. Dean could tell you were watching him. Probably even tilting your head like a curious cat, which he always found adorable.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and racing heart. “It was amazing. You were amazing,” he finally told you, quietly breaking the silence that was driving you crazy with worry. “I’ve never seen you dance before,” he admitted in almost a whisper. “Why did you go through all that?” 

You bit your bottom lip, thankful he wasn’t looking at you, or he would have seen the blush on your cheeks from his compliment. “I just wanted you to see that country music wasn’t all depressing like you kept saying it was,” you admitted in a nervous, almost whisper, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

When he chuckled, and that smile found his lips, you smiled, too. You couldn’t help it. His smile always made you smile in return, even if it wasn’t always directed at you. It was when he turned to meet your gaze that your breath hitched in your chest, and you hoped he didn’t notice.

He still wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened, but he knew he couldn’t deny it anymore. He just couldn’t quite bring himself to admit it yet. There were the times he’d caught you watching him, a look in your eyes that took his breath away and scared the hell out of him. But now, you looked almost worried about what he would say.

“Sometimes, when you’d turn on your music and I would put my headphones on, I didn’t always turn my music on. Sometimes, I listened to what you were,” he admitted a little sheepishly, shifting a little so he was facing you more.

The surprise on your face brought a smile to his lips, so he continued. “I do like some of the songs, and not just from the country ones you would play. I’ll never be able to listen to that one you danced to and hear it the same way again, though,” he chuckled a little, thinking about how you moved. “I’m gonna see you dancing to it in my head. I loved that, by the way,” he added gently but sincerely.

Your expression instantly brightened, even if a deep blush found your cheeks, but before you could say anything about how happy you were, he spoke again.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a piercing? It’s cute,” he told you, that devilishly hot smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

The blush on your cheeks went deeper as you ducked your head and averted his eyes, instantly flustered from head to toe. It was when you felt his hand over yours as you fidgeted with your shirt that pulled your gaze back to his.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he asked, but this time it was genuine concern. You talked to him about everything, or so he thought.

Your eyes fell to his hand over yours, trying not to frown. “A lot,” you mumbled. Then you felt him shift on the bed so that he was closer to you before he gently lifted your chin so he could look into your eyes.

“Talk to me, Kitten, please,” he asked softly, but he hadn’t moved away, and it made your heart flutter a little.

“I felt stupid, wearing that outfit and dancing. My thighs were jiggly, and I just felt exposed. I wasn’t trying to make you think about me. I just wanted you to see that country music wasn’t all depressing,” you confessed quietly but had averted your eyes from his before you had even started talking. Then, after a few moments of silence, “...and I never mentioned my piercing cause I thought you’d think it was stupid,” you mumbled. 

Dean sighed, hearing the vulnerability in your voice broke his heart. You were one of the most confident people he knew, even if you weren’t human. “Listen,” he began sincerely, then dipped his head so he was looking into your eyes. “You’re beautiful, even if you don’t see it.”

“Not pretty enough,” you mumbled.

His look went from sincere to utterly serious. So that’s why she always wears things that cover her curves. The lightbulb finally came on for him. He knew he was going to have to say things he’d kept to himself for far too long, apparently. 

“Kitten, listen,” he began, and the gentleness of his tone pulled your gaze to him again. “I know I’m risking everything here, but it’s damn time you knew. You really are beautiful. I’m always thinking about you, wondering what you’d look like in something a little more… form fitting. Those shorts of yours…” That smirk found his lips before he bit his bottom one, and he practically purred at the thought of them on you.

“I’d love to see you in them again,” he told you with the smirk that said far more than you wanted to think about. Mostly because you always told yourself you imagined him looking at you. “...I love them, and you look amazing in them.” He watched the blush in your cheeks go a shade darker, and to him, it was the most adorable thing he’d seen, other than your curious cat look. “I’m not good with talking about emotions. Can… can I show you what you mean to me?” he asked gingerly, knowing he was risking everything if you didn’t feel the same way.

Your heart was pounding so loudly that you swore he could hear it. Then it was like all the air had been sucked from your lungs, and you couldn’t take a deep breath. You swore the butterflies in your stomach were doing some sort of rave, and the look in his eyes made you swallow hard. Literally, all you could do was nod.

Dean looked from your eyes to your lips, which were slightly parted, then back to your eyes before he slowly closed the distance. His finger and thumb were still gently holding your chin so you could pull away if you really wanted to. His other hand was still over both of yours in your lap. The moment he saw you close your eyes, his lips met yours, and it was better than anything his fantasies had come up with.

The way he kissed you had you thinking all sorts of things. It was slow, intimate, and you prayed your heart wouldn’t explode with as hard as it was beating. Does he really feel the same? It was the only thought that kept running on repeat as your lips moved with his. For a few moments, it was hard to fully relax, let the moment flow.

Dean could feel how tense you were, so he went slow, only wanting to show you what he couldn’t tell you. He wasn’t ready to usher those three little words into existence. Slowly, he shifted closer to you, his lips in a slow dance with yours. His hand glided across your skin from your chin to your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you close.

You allowed yourself to lean into his touch, feel what he couldn’t tell you in words, and by doing so, your fingers laced themselves with his in your lap. The moment stretched on, the tenderness of everything that was him, soothed your worry, your insecurities, and the doubt that always clouded your mind. 

When he did pull away, he rested his forehead against yours, still holding you close, trying to catch his breath. “You really are amazing,” he whispered tenderly, a soft, genuine smile on his face.

It made you smile a little as you looked into his eyes, seeing something there that had your breath hitching again. He does feel the same way. “So are you,” you whispered.

Both of you knew things would change. The lives you lived were hard, but it was moments like this that you both secretly vowed to have as many of as possible. To be each other’s rock while also being that soft, loving safe space that would bring peace to the other’s soul. You knew Dean had his faults, but you had yours. It wasn’t going to be perfect, but it was going to be something you’d put your all into, as would he, and neither of you needed to speak those words to each other to know that.

----------------------------------------- Touched Master List Main Master List

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[sunflower1experiment]

Another mouthwashing analysis

I feel like people forget that Jimmy’s character is important because it forces us to see his crimes and while it is uncomfortable and feels unnecessary.

That is the whole point of the game, what he did was unnecessary and it proves how unreliable he is and how realistic the story is. We have people like him in real life that cause these types of problems, hurt others like he did to Anya and Curly because in his pov he views them as useless or someone to clean up his mess whether he indirectly or directly caused it.

What he did to Anya, he blamed Curly, he’s blaming Curly for his crime against her. When Anya can’t handle feeding Curly the pills, she gets nauseous and upset. And there is a symbolic point in two ways, Jimmy getting angry at her for not handling/cleaning up HIS INDIRECT MESS and the fact that he expects her to act normally after Sa’ing her. Because he doesn’t see the problem, only when she asks for help or gets worried about the baby causing him problems so he runs away from the baby and belittles/ antagonizes her as if that was her fault he crashed it.

Now here’s the symbolism, Anya and Curly symbolizing each other because they both had to fawn and or ended up with flight/freeze. Because of Jimmy, Curly is not perfect or a good person and what happened to him isn’t karma.

The only karma he gets is being forced to watch Jimmy cause all of this chaos and then watching Jimmy crawl back to him and practically cannibalize Curly just because Curly isn’t here to clean up his mess.

Anya is young, so is Daisuke, they were both failed we got that bit but we also forget the part that Curly sort of symbolizes what it would be like for Anya if she had the baby with her abuser still roaming around.

Which causes her to get more depressed, his whole plan was to literally kill her and then he lies saying Curly crashed but we all know thats not true which where the irony comes in and my personal theory. Anya and Swansea probably knew especially when Anya told Swansea, and Swansea told Anya his plan.

Anya basically is giving up meanwhile Swansea was too busy getting drunk to take action when it was needed.

Now we all know this dance and repeated it many times but as a fandom we have to understand that Jimmy shows the worst in everyone as Anya said “Our worst moments don’t make us monsters” Jimmy was in his worst moment and he was portraying everyone in their worst moments meanwhile he was the monster of it all.

And he tries to repeat this quote but Polle (aka Anya) stops him. Because if that were true why did he SA her? Why did he think that he had nothing to lose? Why did he ruin Anya and Curly’s potential relationship/friendship just for a power stroke?

Because he saw Anya as an object and sees Curly as an airhead “Good Captain” whom Jimmy knows well because he was able to analyze Curly’s psych evaluation meanwhile Curly was barely able to analyze Jimmy.

They were never friends, Jimmy took advantage of Curly’s kindness and deems him this airhead, heart on the sleeve Captain. But he forgets that being a Captain comes all the stress.

Which cracks me up when he gets angry at having to do four tasks. This should’ve told everyone how useless he is, he didn’t even do anything for the past 2 months and made sure to blank that out until Anya asked for help, they saw the mouthwash and he was expecting everything to be normal.

No Jimmy, Anya is human, Swansea is human and Daisuke is human. You ruined a future doctor’s life, took a father/husband from his family and ruined a young man’s life. Because you couldn’t take responsibility.

He doesn’t even take responsibility for practically making everyone out to be people that they’re not. As he said and I quote “Pain is what makes one know you’re living.”

……..Anyone who hates him, I do not blame you, folks who like him, I still don’t blame you or anyone.

As long as folks aren’t toxic and bashing others about it, I don’t care.

We just gotta understand that when it comes to each pilot’s perspective. Jimmy’s is super unreliable meanwhile Curly’s is somewhat but he also fails terribly at being Captain. He keeps trying to be friend and Captain at the same time which is impossible unless you know how to juggle the responsibility of one of the crewmates acting out to challenge your authority.

Which is what Jimmy did twice….

And let’s also not forget that he was super selfish the whole time and when it came to judgement day. Him putting Curly in the cryopod and taking the cowardly way out, still selfish and doesn’t make him a hero. Instead it sorta makes him worse, he has all the potential to change as it shows in Swansea’s speech but doesn’t. Because he believes everything he is doing, is right.

Thats all I just wanted to rant because I always think about how he says “I’ll take care of it” he says it to Curly and practically ruins everyone’s life then says it to Anya twice and them proceeds to abuse Curly.

Then when Anya gets the chance to have her own authority, it’s to end it all. Which sucks for her because that’s how depressed she was and how stressful it was and Jimmy once again tries to make it seem like she breaks down all the time. When for 2-4 months she’s been handling Curly’s pills.

Meanwhile he broke down at having to do 5 tasks….which is actually crazy. The tasks sorta represent the months, just saying. He never did a single thing for those past months besides correct folks and talk about how he’s Captain now.

Okay Jimmy, and you can’t even be Captain. Under qualified as a pilot and under qualified as a Captain.

[aftgficrec]

Hi do you guys know of any fics where neil ends up in Easthaven (or similar) because years of ignoring his trauma and refusing Bee finally catches up with him and it’s andreil focused?

There’s plenty about Neil and his mental health around, but most fics where Neil is in Easthaven or a similar institution are AUs. We’ve got some postcanon fics for you here where Neil has neglected his mental health to such a degree that the consequences are fairly disastrous (even though often he finally agrees to go to therapy). So, beware of the trigger warnings! - S

Also see these previous recs:

(see top of posts for further recs)

Neil & Bee here 

Neil goes to therapy here

Neil attempts suicide here

You might also like…

Andreil and eating disorders here

Andreil meet in Easthaven here

Neil with depression/mental illness here

Neil with anxiety attacks here

Some more fics featuring Neil struggling with his mental health/seeking help:

‘cracked but not smashed’ here

‘I No Longer Feel Things (I Know I Should)’ (since updated) and ‘I can feel you under my skin’ here

‘I'm Not Okay (I Promise)’ here

‘yes, I’m still trying’ here

I feel the burden now (it’s weighing down my soul) by Loverz_rock [Not Rated, 3238 words, complete, 2024]

Neil broke away from Andrew’s gaze to stare out the window. “Will you keep me from killing myself? Ever since you gave me a key and told me to stay I’ve been fighting to do just that. But I don’t have it in me to do it any longer. I don’t know how to live now that I’m allowed to.” Neil let his fingers run through his hair as he returned his gaze to the blond. Andrew’s hand twitched to reach out. Instead he took a long drag from his cigarette, focusing on letting the smoke out. “Don’t ask for stupid things. I’m not going to make a deal about that” Neil didn’t push, he just stood there staring at Andrew while inhaling the smoke to keep him grounded. “I’m already doing that, idiot.” Or: Neil is sinking down a dark place during his last year of college, but Andrew is there to catch him.

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: ptsd

I Am A Forest Fire by hetheylecter [Rated M, 3558 words, complete, 2024]

Everyone was staring at him, he knew. They were thinking how stupid he was for all this. He was Neil Josten. He was Nathaniel fucking Wesninski. He should not be breaking down over a few friends family moving on with their lives.  or. it’s neil’s senior year. he’s totally coping.

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: ptsd, tw: vomit, tw: dissociation, tw: blood

Neil Josten is Not Fine by the_greater_grief [Rated T, 3365 words, complete, Aftg Then & Never 2024]

After weeks of nightmares and an embarrassing discovery, Neil finally decides to pay Betsy a visit.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: nightmares, tw: bedwetting

i'll take anything you have (if you could throw me a line) by ifitmeanslosingyou [Rated M, 923 words, complete, 2024]

the sunrise can be pretty, neil thinks, but instead of the pinks and oranges washing him with ease, neil can’t help the panic at the thought that he’s been up here for longer than he planned to he wonders if anyone has even realized he left the dorms in the first place, wonders if andrew even looked when neil left the bedroom, wonders if he gave up, wonders if he finally came to his senses and realized neil was more trouble than he’s worth wonders if the roof of the court is high enough that the fall would kill him

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: implied/referenced self harm

help, I've lost myself again (but I remember you) by abitsillygoofy [Not Rated, 5320 words, complete, 2024]

“Neil we have to talk about it,” Betsy said “I don’t think so” Neil replied “Nope, not happening” He popped the p at the end trying to make the woman mad at him. “You just tried to kill yourself, so I think we have to have this talk” Betsy didn’t seem bothered by his act and kept her nice, neutral facial expression, but unlike on his session looked worried too. or Neil wakes up in the hospital after his suicide attempt and has to face what he did.

tw: suicide attempt, tw: self harm, tw: blood

I Quit Talking Again, I Know You're Still Listening by Hyalophagia [Not Rated, 36085 words, complete, 2024]

"Andrew didn’t know how to stop something from breaking; he’d nearly died trying. But Neil had taught him it was possible to put the broken pieces back together, and he was determined to return the favour." Neil was only a freshman and a rookie when he made his deal with Ichirou. He hadn't stopped to consider how much pressure he was putting on himself; he'd lived in danger his entire life and was used to fighting to stay alive. He'd be fine. He'd always been fine and he always would be. Right?

tw: self harm, tw: dissociation, tw: disordered eating, tw: ptsd, tw: panic attacks

hand. cheek. trigger. bang. by tae_doelee [Rated T, 3980 words, incomplete, last updated March 2022]

(NB: fic is marked as complete, but the storyline is left unfinished)

Neils struggle with depression post-AFTG, things have changed but maybe not as much as he thought.

tw: ptsd, tw: depression, tw: dissociation

You Still have me by Marydu [Rated G, 3826 words, complete, 2022]

Neil is missing again Andrew is worried Where is Neil? What the hell is going on? Andrew is furious that he doesn't know

tw: dissociation, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: minor character death

bullet point fic/headcanon by nightquills [Rated T, collection, complete, 2021]

Chapter 8: out of touch

neil knew that things couldn’t stay the same forever. he knew he and his foxes, his friends, his family would be leaving palmetto soon to start the rest of their lives. 

tw: depression, tw: dissociation

Choices by Tori_Scribbles [Rated T, 3306 words, complete, 2019]

Part 6 of In A Foxes Hole

“You walked into Evermore, knowing full well what they were going to do to you. You left with your father’s people not expecting to come back out alive. But Betsy is what you’re terrified of?”

tw: anxiety, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Neil & therapy by @queer-lovebot [tumblr, 2023]

Knowing Neil, he isn’t getting therapy post-canon for at Least 5 years. He is, however, extremely curious about the effects it has on literally all the other Foxes.

AU-setting:

you make your hand a gun (you lie to everyone) by superache208 [Rated T, 13740 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2025]

When Andrew arrives at the Columbia Psychiatric Hospital, he feels nothing but numb. That is until he meets his roommate Neil. Neil has been in the hospital for two weeks, and he's determined to escape. Unless someone gives him a reason to stay. Or: where Neil and Andrew first meet in a Psychiatric Hospital before ever meeting the Foxes and slowly learn to heal.

tw: suicide attempt, tw: anxiety, tw: ptsd, tw: eating disorders, tw: paranoia

more than enough by drunk_poet [Rated M, 6114 words, complete, 2024]

In the shadows of a quiet mental hospital, two broken men find themselves adrift in a world that doesn’t see them. Andrew Minyard hides behind silence, having long forgotten how to connect with anyone. Neil Josten wears his scars like armor, each one a piece of his fractured past. Neither of them expects more than solitude within these walls. But when their paths cross in the silence of an empty room, something unexpected stirs—an understanding, a shared darkness that only they can see in each other. Drawn together by wounds that refuse to heal, they begin to find solace in each other's presence, their guarded hearts slowly thawing in moments of quiet connection. Their bond is fragile, threatened by the very ghosts that brought them here, yet they find themselves clinging to it, both terrified and mesmerized by the possibility of love in the unlikeliest of places.

tw: self harm, tw: implied/referenced suicide attempt, tw: panic attacks

5 Meter Walls | 5 Meter Mauern by jetblackromance [Rated E, 7570 words, complete, 2024]

Teen Neil and teen Andrew meet in a psychiatric ward. Neil’s mom died at the beach after an encounter with Neil's father's men. Neil's own wounds were more severe than he had thought. He passed out in a motel and the owner called child services on him. They found him just in time and called an ambulance. After a few weeks in the hospital, they decided a stay at the psychiatric ward would be best for him. Andrew was staying with Cass and Richard. He had accepted that he had to deal with Drake if he wanted to stay with Cass. He found his own way to cope with it. Usually he hid it well enough; no one but Drake knew about it, the armbands covered the evidence. But one day, Cass saw and signed him up for an eight week long stay at a psychiatric ward.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: scars

Sunrise by hetheylecter [Rated M, 4459 words, complete, 2024]

Freedom was… not what Neil was expecting. It wasn’t as… freeing?  or. neil navigates the hell that is middle school, mental health, and freedom.

tw: self harm, tw: suicide attempt, tw: eating disorders, tw: implied/referenced bullying

Butchered Bloodline by starrycassi [Rated M, 26472 words, incomplete, last updated Oct 2024]

Nathaniel's life is pretty boring. He has been a long-term patient in a mental facility for the last half of a decade, after all, so there aren't that many options to entertain oneself with. That is until Andrew Minyard breaks into his life — along with a serial killer, a chance to rebuild his life and a truth for truth deal. Or the one where after being captured along with his father, Nathaniel attempts to keep up with his own existence.

tw: graphic descriptions of violence, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced dismemberment, tw: cannibalism, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced torture

Baby, We're Both Crazy by Detective4 [Not Rated, 7806 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2023]

“So...Have you been here before?” Neil’s eyebrows furrowed, “What?” “To Orchard Respite. Or any other hospital I guess. This is my second time here, sixth time in a psychiatric hospital in total.” Daniel said, far too cheerfully. “This is… My first time.” “A first-timer?” Daniel’s eyes widened, “Boy, are you in for a treat."  -- Teens Andrew and Neil meet for the first time in a mental hospital. They've both been committed against their will and both for different reasons. With all their multitudes of issues, can they find love?

tw: implied/referenced suicide attempt, tw: implied/referenced self harm

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 31 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: All gather in the Throne Room to hear Ser Vaemond Velaryon's petition. Never a dull day at the Red Keep. Word Count: 6874 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Show canon scene. Violence, gore, slut-shaming/misogyny, bit of angst, canon death, fat-shaming/fatphobia, bullying mention, depression/mental health mention. Lots of fun things.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: I'm BAAACCKK. Hope everyone had happy holidays and a great new year. Mine was adequate, nothing to report other than get a lil annoyed at the bf. But that was overshadowed by a band I listen to dming a happy new years. I won't say who, because I'm trying to manifest something rn, and I don't want to jinx it. but hint: 😴🚶🐕🐈 Now, this chapter still is around the time I was really struggling to write. Re reading it, it's not entirely as bad as I thought it was, but you might be able to tell where I was getting frustrated and losing my muse. Or not, idk, maybe I hid it well.

There was nothing more intimidating than the Iron Throne when it sat unoccupied. It was almost like the ghost of Aegon the Conqueror still lingered there when the current king did not, watching and judging his dynasty before him. Valeana wondered if this is what he imagined for his line of Fire and Blood; had he predicted his grandchildren, and great grandchildren to fight amongst themselves? Did he predict that his heir to be a woman, where a son with his name stood idly by? Did he predict that his legacy would be put into question?

Valeana also wondered if Targaryens would have ended up this way, had it been Visenya’s line that survived, and not her sister’s. Perhaps their people would not see them as weak, as they once thought of King Aenys.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds,” The Lord Hand spoke after the King had descended upon his throne of iron and war. “We gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark.”

His words were not appreciated by those that suffered for this petition. Valeana stood by her family, who stood behind Alicent and her children. The Throne Room was not at full capacity, but the Lords of the Great Houses had gathered, some with their wives, some with their heirs. The Baratheons, the Starks, the Hightowers, The Arryns, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Tullys, the Greyjoys, even representatives from the Martells were present. The Realm knew what this moment meant – It was not just a petition over who would inherit Driftmark, it was a petition to prove or disprove that Rhaenyra’s three eldest were illegitimate. Bastards. It would not only take away Lucerys’ inheritance, but Jacaerys' and Joffrey’s. If that happened, the Realm may very want Rhaenyra to be removed as heir to the Throne as punishment for her carnal transgressions, and effectively move the line of succession onto Aegon the Elder, bypassing even her legitimate fair-haired sons she sired with Daemon. 

“The crown will now hear the petitions: Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon,” Otto stepped away, and all in the room watched with bated breath as Vaemond moved from the spot he stood next to his uncle’s wife and grandchildren and took his place at the foot of the dias. 

“My King,” he bowed, then looked upon Alicent and Otto. “My Queen, my Lord Hand.” His eyes return to Viserys, whose face was already set in stone, his lips thinned and already showing his disapproval. Alas, Vaemond’s confidence was bordering on delusion, and did not let that deter him in the slightest. Valeana took a step forward, putting herself just behind the backs of Aemond and Aegon, so she could have a better look. 

Aemond slightly turned to her, a silent look that communicated everything. He could not yet show his affections publicly – he had not taken the time to converse with Maris just yet to end their very public courtship (even if it had grown apparent that it was dwindling). Aegon, however, took pleasure in taking advantage of that fact, for when Valeana appeared at his side, he wove his arm around hers and laced her fingers with his own. 

Valeana wasn’t entirely sure what horror show she should dare to look at: Vaemond’s petition, Aemond’s fury, or her brother and father’s heated disapproval behind her. 

“The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria,” Vaemond began his speech, hands clasped in front of him as he not only spoke to his monarch, but to the audience, to the lords and ladies of Westeros. “For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas.” 

Not entirely true, Valeana mused. House Celtigar and House Velaryon ruled ceremoniously, while the latter was more naval and militant, the former was more in trade and piracy. Though that last bit was more of an unsavoury historical anecdote that her father will never acknowledge. 

“When the Doom fell on Valyria, House Targaryen, House Velaryon and House Celtigar became the last of their kind. Our forebears came to this land knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name

“I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my uncle’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins–”

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Leanor Velaryon,” Rhaenyra spoke up, interrupting the knight without remorse. Her face was remarkably neutral despite the bite of her words, reminding everyone in the grand room of her sons’ birthrights. With eyes trained onto the floor ahead of her, she went on, “If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir.” She said this now looking at him directly, and Valeana could only watch, enraptured and captivated by her strength and conviction. “No, you only speak for yourself, and for your own ambition.” 

“You have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra,” Otto interrupted, overlapping the princess’ words. “Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.”

King Viserys was rubbing his eyelids, already tired and weary. Valeana watched his face carefully as Vaemond continued his speech, claiming that Rhaenyra did not know a thing about Velaryon blood. Eyes darted around the room, as she watched Jacaerys catch Aemond’s eye, and Lucerys watched Vaemond with contempt. Daeron looked impossibly uncomfortable, eyes flickering around to everyone to gouge how he should react. And Aegon… Aegon simply shuffled in his spot, free hand moving to scratch his jaw. 

“This is bloody torture,” she heard him whisper. The only thing she could do was give his hand a squeeze in response and he gently squeezed back, rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm. 

When it was Rhaenyra’s turn to petition, her words were cut short when the King placed up his hand to halt her. 

“I must admit my confusion,” his words were laced with exhaustion, but with an underlying strength of a king. He had been patient, polite and courteous as he allowed Ser Vaemond to speak, since he did come all this way to do so. But now it was his turn, and he intended to speak on behalf of his daughter and Lord Corlys, the latter of which could not speak on his own behalf. “On why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

His statement was met with a second of strained silence before he continued, moving his head around the crowd before settling on his cousin. “The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.” 

“Indeed, your grace,” The Queen Who Never Was spoke once everyone had settled their attention onto her. Her eyes flickered from Vaemond to Rhaenyra, then she moved over to place herself at the foot of the dias, before the Throne that in another life, would have been hers. 

“It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Leanor, to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.” 

Rhaenys’ confession garnered a group reaction of surprise. It was under the assumption that the older princess had always disapproved of Rhaenyra the moment each son she birthed looked nothing like hers, and the circumstances of Leanor’s death seemed to put a rift between the like-minded princesses. Though it now seemed that bygones had become bygones. 

“As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire for her son, Luke, to marry Lord Corlys’ granddaughter, Rhaena… A proposal to which I heartily agree.” 

Hushed chatter befell the Throne Room. Rhaena and Luke shared a look with each other, subtle smiles upon their youthful places. This development certainly put a wedge in Ser Vaemond’s petition. He cried about blood purity, and yet here the solution laid plainly in front of the Kingdom. For those who believed that Luke was a bastard, the seat of Driftmark would no longer belong to the Velaryons in name only. Rhaena held that blood from her mother, and what's more, their children would be dragonriders, with their matching Targaryen blood between them. 

Valeana was quick to notice Vaemond’s displeasure and shock. 

“Well…” Viserys lifted his hand dismissively, “The matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

Just when people believed matters were settled, and the chatter started up again, Vaemond stepped forward after Rhaenys stepped back. “You break law and centuries of tradition, to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon–No,” he shook his head minutely. “I will not allow it.”

The King furrowed his brow, mouth popping open at the man’s gall. “Allow it? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

This is where things had taken a turn for the worst. When Vaemond shook with anger, Valeana knew that all sense was lost. At the shout of “That!”, she startled next to the princes. Aegon turned to her slightly amused, and Aemond had moved closer to her until their shoulders touched. 

Vaemond pointed viciously at Lucerys, who surprisingly shrunk under the angered man. “Is no true Velaryon, and certainly, no cousin of mine.”

“Go to your chambers,” Rhaenyra whipped her head to her son, who also vibrated with emotion, lip curling over his teeth as if he wished to lash out on his own behalf. Then she turned to Vaemond, “You have said enough.”

Lucerys didn’t move, but his step father still kept a hand on his shoulder. 

“Lucerys is my trueborn grandson,” The King spoke lowly. “And you are no more than the son of the second son of Driftmark.”

“You may run your house as you see fit,” Vaemond bit back. Valeana held her breath, finding herself squeezing Aegon’s hand. “But you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom, and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned,” He swiveled back around to glare at the boy again, as if he were the reason for all his troubles, and not the adults that surrounded him. “I will not see it ended on the account of this–” His lips folded in between his teeth, and the air in the room stilled. Then as the slow seconds went by, Vaemond’s face relaxed, as if he could lose no more than he already had.

“Her children… are BASTARDS!”

“Seven Hells,” Valeana breathed out. The entire room was filled with loud murmurs, the King himself leaned forward on the Throne, his anger building in his chest, as weak as it was. 

“Oh, this is turning out to be quite the show,” Aegon whispered, his words laced with mirth.

A horror show. 

A very horrific, bloody show. 

“And she is,” Vaemond continued, punctuating every word as he burned his eyes onto Rhaenyra, then Daemon, and then finally the King. “A whore.”

The chorus of gasps filled the Throne Room. Everyone paced around, looking at each other in disbelief. Valeana glanced up at Aemond and saw his smirk, no different to Aegon’s. She knew of the princes’ animosity towards their half sister, who coveted all their father’s love, but as a woman, she could not help but feel disgusted by their reactions. With one glance of Helaena, she was relieved to see that she did not approve either, and when the two princes noticed their disapproval, their smirks dropped. At the very least Daeron had the decency to look scandalized, regardless of what his opinions were of Rhaenyra. 

The king ascended from his throne, his cane forgotten as he reached into his cloak and pulled out the cat’s claw dagger that was always strapped to him. 

“I will have your tongue for that–”

Valyrian steel sung in the air, swiftly and without mercy. The sound of blade cutting through flesh and bone dirtied Valeana’s ears, and the sight of Vaemond’s nearly headless body slumping on the floor now seared into her mind like a brand. Never before in her life had she seen such violence. Not even her fall down the stairs could compare. She had thought she would be impervious to such displays, having seen her own bone out of her flesh, and then watch her leg rot away before it was severed off with a saw. Though that was nothing in comparison to seeing a man’s head chopped off from his cheekbones, leaving his jaw and tongue atop what remained of his head. 

Helaena had turned away with her hands placed upon the sides of her head, her mother Alicent on her protectively to shield her from the gore. Daeron’s eyes widened in shock and horror, his hand flying to the sword on his belt as if it was muscle memory. Behind Valeana, Shyla and Floris both screamed, flying into the chest of Bartimos and their mother, with Clement shielding them from it. Arthor merely stood agape, the first time he, too, ever saw such an act. 

Valeana had jumped away, retching her hand out of Aegon’s in the pursuit to put herself as far away from the corpse as possible. It was Aemond who moved in front of her, hand upon her arm to keep her behind him, whilst Aegon stood like a statue, lips pulled into a frown and eyebrows up to his hairline, staring at Vaemond’s lifeless body as if he could not believe what he had just witnessed, what he was actively staring at. 

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon stood there, hand placed on the pommel of Dark Sister. 

“Disarm him!” The Lord Hand shouted, the Kingsguard poised to attack.  

“No need,” the Rogue Prince replied casually, using the ends of his black tunic to wipe the blood off his sword and sheath it back into its scabbard.

Valeana tore her eyes away at last, blinking away rapidly, as if that would rid her of the image. It was then she brought her attention to where her hands had found rest. She gripped onto Aemond’s sleeve, both of her forearms caging his arm to her chest like a shield or a life preserver. 

“Valeana,” Clement’s presence loomed over her shoulder, his large hand firmly on her bicep. 

Valeana followed Aemond’s arm until she reached his face. He stared at her with a wide eye and a gritted jaw. His fingers flexed at her own sleeve, not wanting to let go either, but they were not in the privacy of their library. It took all her courage to let him go from her vice and allow Clement to pull her into his orbit. 

But when Valeana tore her eyes from Aemond, she landed them on Aegon, who saw the whole thing. His face was crestfallen, but only for a moment before his features pulled into a scowl, eyes glaring up at his younger brother. 

The petition had inevitably delayed the anticipated dinner of the Valyrian Houses, of which Vaemond had been invited to, mostly out of respect. It would be pushed to the next evening, as everyone was collectively in a state of shock and displacement. 

Valeana longed for solitude, she wished to be tucked in the reading nook of the late Aemma Arryn’s library, or laying in a nest of cushions and furs on the secret platform amongst the cliffs. Though for now, she settled on her bed chambers. Shyla was absent, she seemed to disappear after the Throne Room, along with Daeron it seemed. She was particularly distressed and the prince was concerned for her, leaving poor young Floris in the wind. Gods, Borros Baratheon is going to absolutely loathe the Celtigars after this Conclave was over with. 

Valeana was sitting cross legged in the middle of her bed, embroidering an image of a milkweed plant on a dark grey canvas. She intended to give the loop to Helaena as a thank you for her part last night. It was still such a bizarre recollection, that now felt like it was eons ago. Seeing a man’s head lopped off from the middle would do that to someone. 

Still, she wove every memory she made that night into the fabric of her mind. From the moment she saw Aemond splayed on the chair at the table, to that very morning when the warm orange glow of the dawn reflected against the silver tresses of his hair and pearlescent complexion of his skin. Valeana had woken up before him, and she took that privilege gently, savouring every moment. 

Aemond had tucked her under his arm at some point, and she was nestled on his upper arm, hand slayed on his chest while his nose nestled in the crown of her hair. They were both lying on their sides, legs tangled with each other, his hand resting on her hip and thigh. With gentle fingers, she traced the lines of his jaw, his nose, his scar, the gnarl frame of his sapphire eye, and brow, and then his lips that were parted as he breathed gently. Valeana noted how the skin around his perfect lid was red, the corner had a little sandy crust as if his eye had been tearing up during the night. 

With boldness, her hands moved southward, running along the muscles of his chest and stomach, humming in satisfaction at the warmth and feel of his body. It was art, truly; every ridge and curve, every bone and muscle, expertly carved by the Smith himself, designed in the likeness of the Warrior. 

Aemond roused from his sleep when her fingers trailed over the area below his belly button. He blinked away the sand from his good eye and gave a soft, grumbly hum. 

“Still not convinced I am a man?” He questioned softly with a hoarse, sleepy tone before his hand moved to her wrist and guided her to the crotch of his breeches. Valeana gave a soft gasp, or more of a hitch in her throat. She could feel him through the fabric and while he was soft, the muscle twitched at the contact. 

“Aemond–” He interrupted her with a peck on her lips, moving his hand up to the curve of her jaw to keep her there, so he could stare into her eyes. And that is where they remained until there was a knock on the library door, and Helaena’s gentle voice reminded them it was time. 

Valeana sighed contently down at her embroidery. Basking in the perfect evening and the perfect morning was enough to drown out the macabre events of that midday. Now the image of Aemond’s hardened body and Aegon’s thick cock permated her mind, creating a warm stir in her core. Alas, she was still bleeding, and she was not going to risk getting blood under her fingernails and all over her sheets to satiate her carnal hunger. Besides, there was a knock on the door, effectively ending her lewd thoughts. Clearing her throat, she called out: “come in.”

Clement entered the room, closing the door behind him as he did, “How are you doing?”

She offered him a half shrug, “Fine, I suppose.” 

Her brother took a seat at the edge of her bed, his body twisted so he rested his knee on the mattress, where he could look at her properly. “You’re doing remarkably well for someone who just witnessed their first execution.” 

“I do well with gore, I suppose. Finding severed feet on the beach on a regular basis could desensitize you to it,” her jest came out awfully stoic, as if she was serious. Though Valeana tended to joke when she was on the verge of anxiousness or sadness, if she wasn’t already thrown into the maelstrom of a fit. 

“And watching yours decay whilst attached to your body,” Clement added, his dark humour similar to her own. 

“Hm, that too. Perhaps the Stranger’s mark on me still lingers.” 

He hummed in agreement, unserious in his consideration for the statement. But then his face fell, and Valeana geared herself up for the real reason why he was there in her room. 

“Valeana…” He looked down on the bed, where his hand laid flat. He drummed his fingers on the duvet, like he was stalling so he could find the right words, or to rein in his censure. “I feel like you have become a stranger since we arrived at King’s Landing. You have been pulling yourself away every day from our family…and I can’t help but believe it is because of the princes.” 

Valeana leaned back into her headboard with a sigh, her loop forgotten in her lap. “Clement, I have been a stranger to this family for years…” Her eyes drifted over to the balcony. The Hydrangeas that Aemond left her were now placed in a vase next to her bed. 

“Not to me,” he shook his head vehemently. “We are full blooded siblings, Valeana. You and I have a bond that cannot be separated.”

Val tilted her head at him, a single eyebrow raised, “Clement, for half my life we were separated. I was here, and you were on the Isle with Ursula and Arthor. I am twenty, and yet I’ve only ever spent half my life with you, brother, and during that time I spent the better part of it locked in my rooms, despondent and longing for death.” 

Clement let his head sag at that, then raked his fingers through his short silver hair. He did not like dwelling on that dark part of her past, it still made him feel like a failure of a brother that he was not there for her when it happened, nor was he able to coax her out of the abyss in the aftermath. He reached out then, placing a hand on the ankle of her prosthetic, and although physically she could not feel it, the phantom of his touch tickled in the back of her mind as if she could. 

“You are the closest thing I have to mother, you know,” he said quietly, thumb moving along the ball joint. “I might have lost her, but I gained a sister in her stead, in her very image. I vowed over her grave that I would protect you, and I have failed thus far… I do not wish to continue that path any longer.”

When Valeana felt her eyes begin to water, she shut them immediately and bowed her head till her chin laid on her sternum, “Clement–”

“I saw you,” he said a bit forcefully. “You held Aegon’s hand one moment, and then clung to Aemond the next. Whatever it is you are doing, you must know it will end in heartbreak. Please, for your sake, sister, let them go… Jacaerys is an honourable man, who can offer you a great future–”

“I do not love him,” the words came out before she was able to filter them. 

Clement furrowed his brow as he tilted his head at her disbelievingly, “Then who is it you love? Aemond the Blackhearted or Aegon the Whoremongerer?” 

Sorrow was quickly being pulled into frustration. Valeana shook her head, “You only know the princes by their reputation, you do not know their character, the way they are with me–”

Clement pulled away, scoffing loudly, “I know Aemond is the cause of your first heartbreak, the reason why you walk with a wooden leg, and I know Aegon is the cause of your self hatred and the reason why you hide yourself from the world. This is all I need to know… So excuse me if I cannot fathom why you wish to consort with either of them, let alone harbour feelings.”

Valeana took a steady breath through her lips, her eyes closed to ground herself in the darkness behind her lids. “They have both reconciled with me.”

“Oh, they have, have they? When will they seek out father’s forgiveness then?” His question took her off guard. “Father was just as hurt as you were. He ended his friendship with the King over it… let go of his position on the Small Council, and left King’s Landing. Do not think you are the only victim here, sister.” 

“Please leave, Clement,” she ran her fingers over her eyes, where a headache was starting to bloom.

“I will not. I am not going to let you ignore the truth, Valeana… You have been causing an immense amount of stress on not only Ursula and father, but our sisters and brother as well. Everything has been revolving around your scandals, your love life, and it has put poor Shyla and Floris on the backburner. Floris, the poor thing, weeps at not being married still at her age. How do you think she feels seeing her step sister being the centre of attention? To have this many men flock to you and not her?”

“Floris,” she nearly yelled her name. “Floris is the reason why people whisper about me! Her insecurities are not my bloody problem, Clement! She could have been married off years ago, but she lets her pride and narcissism get in the way of it.

“She envies me, that is the truth of it. It’s always been like that – do you even notice the comments she makes of me? Floris is just as terrible as Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys was to me, even worse because we are family! It has been like that my entire fucking life with that woman… And you, father, mother, Arthor, and Shyla choose to ignore her belittling comments about my figure, because of what, Clement? Because you do not wish to cause strife among family? To choose sides? Or is it because you all believe her? You all agree I’m too fucking fat, but unlike Floris you keep your opinion behind your buttoned lips and avoidant eyes?”

Valeana did not give him room to respond, if he had any intention to, if he had any strength to. She pulled herself from her bed, embroidery loop forgotten, and slipped her feet into her shoes. Then, she bent down and secured the shoe’s strap around her wooden ankle, mindful to not run off on insecure shoes like last time.

“Where are you going?” 

“Since you refuse to leave, I will,” she marches over the door, and pulls it open with a violet jerk. 

“And which prince will you flock to?” He is standing up now, looking at her retreating back.

She paused in the threshold, her hand flexing on the handle of the door. “Neither,” she replied flatly, then slammed the door on him. 

When Valeana left her family’s wing, she had spotted Ellyn and Wylla walking in the gardens arm in arm from the loggia above. She fled to find some corner of the Keep for solitude, but when she saw them, she craved friendship more. They were whispering about something, giving each other looks that Valeana could not quite make out from where she stood. When she called out for them, they looked up, completely startled. Their bodies pulled away from each other as if they were caught committing a crime. 

Valeana tried not to think too much about it, especially since her thoughts were already at full capacity. Though as they sat in the grass, underneath a cherry blossom tree, away from courtiers and servants, Valeana couldn’t help but feel suddenly paranoid. The two were sharing looks with each other that she could not decipher, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they had been talking about her. 

Eyeing them warily, she decided to test the waters, “You two seem quiet.”

They looked at her slightly surprised, with Ellyn the first to speak, “Sorry… That nasty business in the Throne Room, it… it was just not expected.”

Wylla hummed in agreement, “I’ve seen a few executions, done by my father… Never seen anything so savage, however.” 

Valeana nodded, still unconvinced. Did they see her cling to Aemond after it happened? It was possible, though she was behind the Targaryen princes at the time, and she was fairly certain that people were more preoccupied by Ser Vaemond’s scalp rolling around the floor. 

Narrowing her eyes, she decided to press further, a little more boldly, “Are there any more whispers about me?” At their collective confusion, she added, “Only because you two seem quieter than usual, and I’m starting to wonder if you’ve learned something unsavoury that I should be concerned about.” 

Ellyn’s cheeks went pink, her eyes darting from Wylla, to the grass she was picking and peeling. They both shook their heads and cleared their throats. 

This time, Wylla answered, seeming genuine.  “No, nothing new. Only that bets have been challenged now that Jacaerys is in the running for your hand.”

Valeana rolled her eyes, “He isn’t. It was simply a brief moment in order to appease our parents.”

Ellyn raised an eyebrow mockingly, “So there we are back to two princes?”

Wylla tilted her head, “Or just one? I saw you and Aegon holding hands in the Throne Room.” 

“Is that all you saw?” They both looked genuinely confused. It was a bit of a relief, at least she knew they weren’t gossiping about her clinging to both Aegon and Aemond so publicly and judging her for it. As of right now, Aemond and hers reconciliation was not public knowledge; as far as the court is concerned, he was still courting Maris, and it was only the whispers that breathed life into the rumour of him yearning for Valeana. It was…  true, and well observed, but Valeana knew better to encourage the truth. Aemond needed to gently rid himself of Maris Baratheon, now more than ever. Having noticed how Shyla was slowly usurping Daeron Targaryen from Floris Baratheon, the tensions between Celtigars and Baratheons were becoming very tense, and it did not bode well for Valean’a own precarious circumstance.

Wylla’s eyes narrowed, “What else was there to see, Valeana?”

Val’s eyes flickered to Ellyn, who stared at her expectedly. She trusted this Baratheon with her past with Aemond, her feelings for him, but she did not know Ellyn’s relationship with her sisters very well. Did she approve of Maris’ match with him, or merely tolerated it? Would she choose Valeana or her sister? And the issue with young Floris and Shyla was a whole other added problem. The last thing Val wanted was to put Ellyn in a position of choosing between friendship and family. 

After kneading her lip with her teeth in thought, Valeana tentatively asked: “Ellyn… Is Maris… quite fond of Aemond?”

Ellyn seemed quite taken back by the question, but otherwise she appeared almost like she was harbouring knowledge she had yet to share. With a great sigh, the brunette nodded remorsefully, “She is. I’ve never seen her quite smitten but… She seems a bit agitated lately. Ever since the Hightower dinner, which…I know you’ve told me about. Maris has given me her own version of it, as did Daeron when he visited Floris one afternoon. My sister was quite affronted. Her intelligence is her biggest pride.”

“So suffice to say she isn’t my biggest fan.”

Ellyn huffed a soft laugh, “An understatement really. Um, she has also noticed… Aemond has become distant with her, and she has deduced it may be your doing. From what I overheard from her and Cassandra yesterday, your step-sister has been insinuating that you’ve been trying to seduce him.” 

Valeana sighed, rubbing the spot between her eyebrow and nose, “Of course she’s doing that. I somehow wonder if my beloved step sister has a plan, or she is simply lying freely, trying to see what people will believe and if it will ruin my character.” 

“I am surprised you aren’t trying to seduce him,” Wylla admitted thoughtfully, regarding Ellyn’s statement, “Given what you’ve told us. Didn’t you want him back? Or…has Prince Aegon snuffed that flame?” 

Valeana has done nothing but disprove the whispers about her and Aegon, particularly after the Hightower dinner when they publicized their (fake) courtship just to make Aemond jealous. It worked, though faster than she anticipated, and now she gathered how confused her two new friends probably were, given how much she had not shared with them since their last conversation about Val’s lovelife. The context between that drunken night to the present had not been divulged to them, and that was not just because she simply hadn’t the opportunity, but because she wasn’t accustomed to sharing vulnerable secrets. Valeana never actually had friends she could trust, she painfully realized; not since Aemond, and look how that turned out. 

She glanced around them, making sure they were very much alone. They had trailed far from the path, hidden in the grassy knolls, underneath the cherry blossom tree, surrounded by hydrangea bushes of various colours. The bushes and florals do a good job at muffling their voices as well as the noises of the world outside of their little sanctuary.

Licking her dry lips, Valeana geared herself to confess her sins, hoping that they would not judge her too harshly for her weaknesses. Hoping that Ellyn would at most be impartial to Valeana’s hand at effectively ruining Maris’ chance at a royal betrothal. 

“There is much I should– no, need to tell you. So much has happened…I do not know where to begin.”

Ellyn reached out and patted her arm, “Start from the beginning then?” 

With a harrowing sigh, Valeana nodded and began her complicated, long tale. She tripped over her words and backtracked when she remembered information that added more context, but she recounted everything. From the moment Aemond pulled her drunken self out of the Throne room, to her eve spent with Aemond in Queen Aemma’s old quarters. Yes, she even told them of Aemond’s apology on Maiden’s Day eve. Valeana even admitted to Aemond ravishing her tits that drunken night in the passageways, the morning before the Hightower supper. Even told them about the night at the secret terrace with Aegon. She also mentioned how she lost her maidenhead to a bloody horse, which was her attempt at humour and alleviating the tense conversation. 

In the end, her fingers were pressed in the corners of her eyes, head bowed over her crossed legs in exhaustion. Her head felt dull and heavy from a steady headache, one that began with Clement earlier. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confessed defeatedly. “This is all so new to me… All my life, I was prepared to either be a spinster, a septa, or a despondent wife to a lord that did not care for me. I never even entertained the idea that a man might… desire me at all, let alone two.” It was addicting, she admitted to herself. Selfishly she thought perhaps she could have them both, like Catelyn Redwyne’s story, but she knew that was impossible…Aemond and Aegon would never share her. They would spend the entire time trying to lay claim on her, like two opposing conquerors. 

Wylla’s hand patted her knee comfortingly, “Your life never ceases to amaze me, Valeana. Most women would kill to be in your position.”

“I am not one of those women,” Ellyn commented good naturedly. “Though I admit that it is a privilege to be fought over by two princes of the Realm.”

Valeana pulled her hands from her eyes and blinked tiredly at both of them, “What would you two do if you were in my position?”

“Choose neither and become a Septa,” Ellyn shrugged dismissively, but at Valeana’s pointed look, she sighed. “Honestly, I do not know. I suppose I would try to figure out who I could not live without.” 

Wylla nodded her agreement, “You will be spending the rest of your life with this man… I personally don’t think it is disgraceful to explore who you are compatible with, both emotionally and physically. Most of us do not get the leisure of testing the waters before we are thrown in.” 

Val nodded, because she had no choice but to agree. It still did nothing to ease her stresses, though. “The problem is that my decision will be at the expense of the other’s pain. And I do not wish to cause anyone pain… Not even your sister, Ellyn. Even if – and forgive me for saying so – even if she is a pretentious bitch.” 

Ellyn huffed, shaking her head, “Oh, do not worry, I don’t take offense to that. Maris loves to call me stupid whenever she gets a chance, so she deserves the insult.” Suddenly the brunette looked down at her hands for a moment, brow furrowed as if she was in a battle with her own thoughts. “I love my sisters, truly… I wish to see them contented. Though… I do not believe that the princes would ever give them the happiness they hope to have with them. I think Maris and our Floris both are blinded by their titles, of the little fairy tale of becoming princesses rather than actually understanding the gravity of it all.

“I saw immediately that Daeron is far too self-centered to care for my little sister truly, and she is far too meek to stand up for herself. He never asks questions about her, and if she does not ask questions about him, then there is no conversation to be had. As for Maris, well…she likes the idea of Aemond. Of someone who actually enjoys her mind, and shares academic conversations, but,” Ellyn lifted her shoulders in a shrug, “As far as I’m aware, they have not shared anything deeper. Though, I dare say, with all my sister’s intelligence, she isn’t particularly educated in matters of the heart. If it wasn’t Aemond, any man that showed an interest to her intellect and mind would be enough to convince her that they are in love with her.” 

“That does not make me feel any better, Ellyn,” Valeana picked at the grass too, covering her skirts with it. 

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I’m trying poorly to convey something… What I mean is… Do not feel guilty about it. My sisters are not compatible with either Aemond or Daeron. Floris is young, beautiful, she will not suffer singledom long. However, I do worry about Maris, but not for reasons you think. Maris is not stable.” 

With a furrowed brow, Valeana peered at Ellyn carefully, “What do you mean?”

“She does not like being insulted, which you did, but she also sees Aemond's sudden distance from her as an insult too. Maris is calm most of the time but, when she feels like she has been aggrieved, or humiliated, she is… reactionary, for lack of a better word. And with your step sister’s ill counsel… I fear she plans on doing something explosive to get back at you. I just do not know what, or when, or if it’ll happen at all. I just know my sister… And since you are my friend, I only wish for you to be cautious. Perhaps do not make your affections for Aemond so obvious, until the sky is clear, until Maris cannot do anything.” 

Tentatively, Valeana gave a soft nod, “Thank you for telling me. Though now I have to deal with your sister on top of my own. Is there anyone else out there that is trying to sabotage me for reasons unknown, that I should be aware of?” She turned to Wylla, “Do you have a sister I do not know about that is plotting to kill me?”

Wylla softly laughed, “Gods, no. Well, I have a half sister. She is baseborn, but she is not here, anyway. Besides, we northerners have no interest in pretty white-haired princes with soft bellies or thin waists. We like our men towering, hairy, and smelling like a campfire.” 

Ellyn wrinkled her nose at that, but otherwise said nothing. 

Valeana hummed, lifting up her leg to rest her arm on her knee, “Your brother smells cedarwood and raw masculinity, which also smells a bit like roasted venison. It does things to me.”

“You still try to covet my brother even with two Targaryen princes at your beck and call?”

“Key word is try,” Valeana shook the grass from her skirt in exasperation. In total unseriousness, she continued, “Though he seems too preoccupied with Alysanne Blackwood, and I cannot compete with a woman who breaks horses and looks like she can kill a man with her thighs.” 

“And I am sure she has!” 

Their laughter pulled their outing to a lighter conversation about this or that, leaving the stress of courtships and family behind. Though despite the change, something dreadful settled in Valeana’s gut as Ellyn’s warning about Maris echoed in her mind like a bad omen. She couldn’t shake the feeling; it felt like she was an animal, sensing the impending doom of a large, disastrous storm. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO SNEAK PEAK Valeana flipped back over, only to see a shadow looming on the right side of the bed. Her heart leapt in her throat, momentarily gagging her as she jumped and gaped, a scream nearly escaping her lungs. His hand flew to her mouth.  “Shh, shh,” Aemond crouched down next to her bed, his grip over her mouth softening when he saw her shoulders cave. “It’s only me.” When he removed his hand from her mouth, she gave him a sharp whack on the shoulder, “Aemond, I swear to the old gods and the new, the next time you do that I’m going to throw you down a flight of stairs.” “Wouldn’t that be an interesting sight,” Said another, causing Valeana to jostle a second time. She and Aemond whirled their heads towards the door with wide and alarmed eyes. And there in the dim light she could make out the short wavy silver hair of Aegon. 

Notes: I hope that was worth the 2 week wait )x I still didn't do as much as I wanted in the last two weeks. Didn't realize how much I just needed to unplug during the holidays, what with work stress, among some other things and stuffs. Though the chapter I'm currently working on is nearly done. I just hope the one after doesn't take me just as long, otherwise I may need to do another two-week wait. Also I just wanted to point out...the amount of times I had to watch that Vaemond and dinner scene just to write this chapter, and the Fem!Aegon one shot was so absurd. It used to be my favourate episode, but now I can't even watch it again XD Anyway, once again, I hope everyone had good and safe holidays, <3

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[demigodseameg16]

..So not only are they bashing one of the few characters of color and saying a lot about themselves by how people are defending one of the few disabled characters, they also decided that being like Alya, when written by the RIGHT PEOPLE, a girl who is journalistic, loyal to her family and friends, clever, knows what is being put down and how to spin it to her advantage and to get to the actual truth, not just the pretty picture, is a bad thing.

*cracks knuckles*

Let's begin shall we?

Number one - The defense of Alya: Aren't we tired of this same old routine? I may not agree with some of Alya's actions (less on Alya's side, more on why they occured) but reading through those Instagram comments it seems like the only negative thing that's uniting them against Alya is because she's a dark skinned French-Martinique girl who made one mistake in believing Lila. To which I say, SHE IS A CHILD. She is obviously going to make mistakes on the path of her career, and in the end, she still came to Marinette's defense! She knew Marinette would never cheat and argued against her expulsion along with Adrien! She tried getting Marinette outside when she was depressed because she was picking up how her best friend was feeling long before her actual friend could put those feelings into words! She got akumatized for Marinette because she just wanted to understand her feelings and she was scared she was failing her first friend! Or did we forget that Alya is the new kid too, who probably moved from French-Martinique to a whole continent, in a place that speaks a different form of French, to which she may be criticized for her body shape and skin color because of beauty standards laid deep in society! And also because unlike other girls her age she's already so career driven and proud of being a nerd/geek! Alya is a middle child who shoulders a ton of responsibility, she takes care of her little sisters all while running her blog, which is the most used blog in Paris, while ALSO making sure her older sibling isn't pushing herself too hard. Her mom is a full time chef at one of the fanciest hotels in Paris, so that means she's going to be working overtime, and her dad is in charge of a whole zoo, so he's working weird hours too. And we are still bashing her because of an animation error? For her asking her friend for evidence of Lila's lies, a valid question for a reporter because she just can't take the words of a best friend because that would be bias? Just because Marinette was right that one time, doesn't mean she'll be right ALL the time. So if acting like Alya is a bad thing, I'll gladly be putting on my glasses more often and start wearing a fox miraculous.

Number two - The defense of Sublime: Ladies and gentlemen, enbies of the jury, what the actual fuck. Unless Lila, a girl from a Mediterranean region in Europe, who is a naturally tan skinned girl, decided to fully commit to the "disabled" bit and chop her legs off while bleaching her skin, all while switching her DNA from most likely Southern Italy to Belgium, a French speaking country with Germanic roots, I ask of you, what the actual fuck. That's too far, even for Astruc. We know Lila is capable of what Miraculous calls "masterful disguises", and apparently in the London special her hair was blonde and her eyes were violet, but she still had her natural skin and oh I don't know, HER LEGS? WE SAW HER LEGS, YES? We may not know what Lila's "true appearance" is, but I'm going to assume it's a girl with a healthy tan, and two working legs. Sublime is pale, and doesn't have those last two. That doesn't make her Lila, BUT THAT DOESN'T MAKE HER A VILLAIN. And also, it rules her out of being Lila's accomplice, because she's been training for the Paralympics her whole life. Do you know how much training that requires? And she's doing TRACK for goodness sake. I once tried cross country only for the interest of throwing the javelin (I never got to throw the javelin). They had to sign me up for track first. My social schedule? Gone with the wind. My art time? Vanished like my dad. My rehearsal time? On life support. (Ironically, I was really good at all the stretches, and pretty fast for my condition of having, ya know, leg problems. I wouldn't be able to run with the team, but I did practices with them and I came to every meet and cheered them on and helped them stretch and got them water (and for that, I was not bullied because Track had my back. You never mess with the person who can perfectly get out a cramp in your leg, while also gives you water at the perfect temperature.)) Realistically girlie has no free time outside of that besides school, and people think she can be an ally to a supervillain SHE JUST MET? Because let me remind everyone, Sublime just moved to Paris, from Belgium. All while Hawkmoth was going down, she was in Belgium. She doesn't even know who these heroes ARE, let alone the villains.

Look, you are allowed to like who you like, and you are allowed to dislike who you dislike. But I draw the line at liking a character who basically supports a system that allows ableism, racism, harassment to run free, all in the name of her "vision". Because if Marinette is happy, then that's all that matters, right? It doesn't matter that there can be real life consequences to these type of things, for kids watching this show and seeing bad behavior being rewarded and that influencing their developmental skills, and for all those kids of color and disabled kids or combination of the both who see that they are the bad guys simply by existing in your standards, letting their feelings not be validated or be acknowledged all for some other person's happiness to be achieved. A person who is supposed to be a hero, an "inspiration for little girls everywhere". Except dark skinned girls. Oh, and disabled girls. And girls questioning their identity, whether it be heritage, gender or sexuality (because it's not just little kids who watch this show, tweens and teens watch it too). And girls that might have a bit more money than other people in your class, or girls who don't have as much money as others in your class. And for girls who aren't the standard beauty. And for boys who want a girl role model too? Sorry, you aren't important unless you are the sacrifice or love interest, preferably both. Yes, an inspiration to children everywhere indeed.

Bro as someone who uses a walking aid (a cane) and is disabled seeing the new trailer for Miraculous Ladybug makes me absolutely furious. I have never felt so much hatred for a fictional character before and yet here we are. I didn't like Marinette before but like, this just. This hits way too close to home and I know Astruc is going to frame it in a way that makes Marinette the good guy. But NOTHING excuses touching a disability aid without permission, especially fooling around with it and sabotaging it. And the fact that a younger generation is going to see this, I absolutely can't. I feel so bad for disabled children who will see this scene on TV and have their feelings be in the wrong, shown that they are the bad guys for getting upset, or heavens forbid being disabled. Screw you Astruc.

[variousqueerthings]

I think it's also interesting to see how things change depending on the time in which they're being engaged with. so I see things about rose today that point out that she's written to be 19 when she meets the doctor and that's a big age difference (which... I understand the point is it's a big age difference because billie piper was 23 and eccleston was 40, and then dtennant was like 34/35 when he started which isn't so big of a shift but anyway the optics I get what people are getting at, but also I think it does oversimplify a lot of what's actually going on in the written dynamic, anyway-)

and also that the rtd run's Themes start coming together properly around s3 (although they are present from day one), and in some ways at this point, because nu!who has been running for... fuckn. actually quite a few years, which is wild to me as someone who started watching as a kid, and I wonder if classic!who fans felt the same way about their show and anyway -- she shifts from being Literally The First Companion You'd Seen For 17 Years (not counting the movie and fan things and the sketch) Who Was Defining A New Era For A New Generation to... a companion

comparable to other companions, comparable to the rest of the show

we sift through the writing to see what worked and what didn't (in our opinion), and we know how the ten-and-rose storyline Really ends, and how the ten storyline ends (sort, of because now that doctor and donna are Back), and we know what happens afterwards, and we talk about tenrose with a 2020s eye, and rose is "just" one of the people that travels with the doctor, one of several, and notably the one who gets most of the sunshiney doctor that buries a lot of the (wonderfully portrayed) angst of the latter half of the rtd show, and doesn't have as much lore as everything after that, so the story is "just" more simple overall

and to me she's kind of incapable of being just that. doctor who was still a risk that first season, it wasn't a done deal that it would have legs at all, never mind that it would continue for as long as it has. rose was created to be the Face of what nu!who was, moreso than nine/eccleston, because even with the extra angst and the eccleston gravitas, we know the doctor, the doctor is established, it's not actually the doctor that needs to sell what the new show is going to become and what the Feel of that new show is going to be (I mean, partly ofc, but-)

rose was doing so much heavy lifting and she succeeded! she was the face of who before dtennant or any other doctor or companion of his era and subsequent eras. she was created to appeal to a demographic of girls who wanted someone relatable in science fiction, because rtd wanted this to be for the girls, and billie piper came into it off the back of being a popstar and it changed her entire trajectory (for the better I think/hope -- there's a lot of bad shit in billie piper's past and I'm always sending her a fond thought)

nine/ten-and-rose were It! not calling it romantic or platonic or any secret third thing (haunting the narrative), but simply It! that's why it has so much staying power as a ship (which, my opinion on shipping has been somewhat *eh shrug* in later years, but in early-days when that was how you engaged with dynamics that got to you, of course it was going to be massive). it's so hard to properly describe how "for the time in which it was made" that this dynamic was written for, and how successful it was. it was rose that breathed doctor who -- and the doctor's character -- to life, as much as herself

she sets the stage for everything that comes next, both within and without the show proper

and I'm always so pleased that rtd at the time was thinking about what was needed to create this character and he opened with a shot from a girl on the estate with messy hair, clumpy eyeliner, and a minimum wage job, and went "that's the girl who's going to go on the adventure of a lifetime, that's the girl we're seeing the story through and relating to, because that's what girls (and uh... those who were girls at the time - and their parents and the boys) should be seeing."

I know rose isn't the first working class companion including classic!who, but she set the tone for nu!who and her family and background are important to why she is who she is, and is explored

"I've got no A-levels, no job, no future-" said the girl about to see the universe

she was very much for teenagers, and so she reads differently when you're an adult watching it back (much like those "teenager saves the world," novels you loved as a kid), but that's why she's 19 at the beginning. that's why she's billie piper (who does a perfect job). she was there to bring a new generation into this story, and it was perfect. and then she grows up. and we grew up. and she had adventures and it was brilliant and she survived and she made a life for herself. that's her story

[ayyponine]

not to be a milennial but harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban really is that bitch....

[fluentisonus]

.

[goblin-enjoyer]

*draws something for the first time in a while. “Man I suck at drawing! Maybe go back to being good at it if I draw more!”

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

“Oh I got a neat idea for a drawing! Surely I have gotten better by now!” Loop post

[seilon]

shouldn’t have checked my bank account as expected my mother has taken thousands more dollars from my savings and has almost run me dry more or less. Cool!

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

EXCUSE ME???!?!!!!?

THAT ENDING WAS SO GOOD BUT WHAT THE HECK 😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔❤️❤️❤️❤️

[liinos]

saw a reel of some kids at an orchestra camp that looked suspiciously like the one i was forced to go to one year... worst experience of my life!!!