#i was also raised to doubt all my decisions so here we are

[skunkes]

i may be stupid

[coddda]

Light's relationship with his father is such a heartbreaking multi-faceted tragedy to me I hate it so so so much.

Soichiro loves his son so much, and while he's certainly not a perfect father I know that he cares deeply about Light. He wants to prove Light's innocence so badly but he can't let go of the underlying doubt that he might really be Kira and it gnaws at him. He does not know that from the very beginning he was being used by Light, whether it was to obtain information about the investigation, or to get to L, or to strengthen the foundations of his own lie that he wasn't Kira, this entire time he was simply another resource. He'll hang onto this doubt for years, even after L is dead, even if he doesn't express it in the latter half of the series, until he himself is on his deathbed, with what he believes to be undeniable proof that Light isn't Kira. (It's a lie, of course.) He dies happy, but it's on the foundations of blissful ignorance. His own son brought him here, brought him to the point where he had to sacrifice half of his own remaining life span, to his own death march, and was still trying to use him even now to kill someone else, but he doesn't know that. Soichiro said that what was evil was the power to kill others, and that whoever used it was cursed. Light was that cursed man, of course, and he tried to bring that curse onto Soichiro too by making him kill in his last moments. Soichiro was happy regardless, because he didn't know. He'll never know. (In the manga/anime at least. More on that later).

Light loves his father but it's not enough to turn him away from the terrible decisions he's made, if anything it only fuels them. His idea of "justice" is a twisted model of what he parroted from Soichiro, and he uses his father as another pawn (and a powerful one at that) in his plans. If he can prove that Kira is justice then perhaps his father will no longer call Kira, and therefore Light, evil, so he just needs to ensure that Kira becomes justice, right? It's Light's own actions that land his own father in the hospital for a stress-induced heart attack and yet he says only a few minutes later that he's the happiest he's ever been in his entire life. Even after Soichiro denounces Kira by calling him evil, even after he calls the Death Note's power evil, even after he unknowingly tells Light that he is cursed. When Soichiro dies Light is too deep in his own plans to actually properly process the fact that his own father is dying past what it means for his goals, but at the same time he still cares enough that after the fact he'll genuinely cry, only to brush it all away later. (Personally, I don't have a single doubt in my mind that Light's crying in that scene was genuine and I Will die on this hill). Soichiro had unknowingly denounced Light one last time just before his death, openly relieved that he "wasn't Kira after all", which also reveals that he has had doubts about Light this entire time, even after L died. By the time he's caught at the Yellow Box Warehouse Light will have denounced his father too, seeing him as someone who was made to be a fool, someone who was naive, even, too earnest for his own good. He won't realize that part of this description of his father might have applied to Light himself, back when this all started. Light takes after his father so much in so many ways already, so why not in this way too?

Ough. And honestly the other adaptations never miss out on this tragedy either, and I love them for that. (spoilers for the musical and 2006 live action movies I guess?)

In the musical we see Soichiro express his doubts and conflicts about who to believe, Light or L, if the son he raised really is a murderer, if everything he knows about him is just a lie. Like, there's an entire song about this, and you can tell how torn he is about it all, how badly he wants Light to be innocent but about how he also needs to face the truth no matter what it is, but at the end of it all he doesn't even get the answers he wants. At the end of the musical the only thing he finds is two corpses, Light's and L's, with no answers. No last words, no closure, only dead ends and a dead son and a grieving daughter. It's so awful I hate it here.

And the live action movie is fucking Insane. Like, wow. Okay. (Spoiler for the ending of Death Note The Last Name I guess) In the 2006 movies/novels Light writes Soichiro's name in the Death Note himself, and it's such an inconcievable move that it leaves even Misa shocked; Light tries to make Soichiro give him the Death Note for the last part of his plans, seeing his death as a "necessary sacrifice" (insert tangent essay about why I think 2006 live action movie Light is actually the most "coldhearted" Light Yagami, despite how infamous anime Light is). It doesn't work, and Soichiro does end up finding out that Light is Kira this time, and they have a confrontation, but he doesn't even sound truly hateful towards Light for it. He Never seems to outright hate Light for it, even after Light calls the whole confrontation a waste of time and instead tries to continue killing with the piece of the notebook in his watch, even after he tries to get Ryuk to kill everyone. When Ryuk inevitably writes Light's name and he collapses, Soichiro still reaches out for him and holds onto him as he's dying. Light literally dies in Soichiro's arms, still looking for the validation that he was right, that this wasn't all for nothing, that he was doing the good thing, trying to make Soichiro understand that he was trying to enact justice based on what he learned from him in the first place. Soichiro not only learns but sees for himself what his son has become, and Light dies in his arms leaving no closure for either of them. Soichiro will announce Light's death in L Change the WorLd on the news without saying his name, saying instead that it is only Kira who is dead, even though he and Light are one in the same. Sachiko and Sayu will never get to know the full truth about what happened to Light, instead Soichiro will lie and instead tell them: "Light was killed by Kira."

And then holy Shit the jdrama. If I write about it here this post is gonna literally double in length and also I don't really wanna spoil it but. Man. Man. If you watched it you know. Holy Shit dude I Cried.

It's the fact that, canonically, Soichiro will die oblivious to what Light has done, but even in the instances where he does find out, it doesn't make it any better, and it doesn't make him love Light any less, it just gives him more to grieve.

It's the fact that there isn't a single universe where Light doesn't use his father for his own gain, whether to gain information, or to try and control him with the Death Note, or make him write in the Death Note himself, and not a single time will he realize just how far he's strayed from Soichiro's ideals, and not a single time will he not forsake him for it by the end of the story.

It's the fact that, despite everything, Light will always refers to Soichiro as "dad/my dad" (informal) rather than "father/my father", even after he has been "denounced" (and this is true in every language that Death Note has been translated in, as far as I could find. Man, isn't that so cool! :) <- Through tears).

Anyways that's what I've been thinking of how's your guys' days going

[ode-to-fury]

Other Plans for the Evening

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Scene after the Illario fight, but the way I would have written it. It's not that deep or different, but I think it's better. My Rook but mostly I wasn't specific.

Disclaimer: Whoo first Lucanis fic! I'm still trying to find the DA companions' voices so you might have to bear with me a little bit. This has been in my brain since the MOMENT he said "I have other plans for the evening". I tried to make him that weird mix of awkward and smooth so lmk if I did that or if I need to work on it. Might come back and edit.

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

"You came back here just for coffee?"

Rook's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

When he looked up at her, his heart gave a lurch, the same lurch it had given every other time he'd laid eyes on her.

Her hair was damp and sligtly wavy from her bath, still, and she wore leather trousers and a shirt. It was difficult to see in the dim firelight, but he knew the blue of the shirt would be reflected in her eyes, twinkling above the bemused grin she was giving him.

"What, the stuff in that gigantic villa wasn't good enough for you?"

She folded her arms across her chest, eyebrows raised and dimples clearly visible as she grinned down at him. Mercifully, Spite was being quiet for once. He idly wondered if demons ever got tired, or overwhelmed after a long day. Something to ask Emmrich about, perhaps.

"It's better if I make it myself," he said, not quite managing to smile back at her, despite the lightness that smile brought to his chest.

"And besides, I wanted some quiet."

He hated that her smile melted slightly, her shoulders tightening ever so slightly. He doubted anyone else would have noticed, but he did.

"So," she said, "First Talon?"

"First Talon," he said, and if he was honest with himself, it did not fit right in his mouth.

"I still cannot believe Caterina did that."

Lucanis is the new First Talon. His decision stands.

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, but her fingers tensed where they rested on her arm.

"Does that mean you're leaving?"

Ah.

He almost grinned.

"No," he said simply. "We have a contract. Besides, Caterina might have named me First Talon, but there's no stopping her from giving all the orders."

This time her smile was wider, and she tilted her head to the side so her hair shifted, glinting golden in the firelight. He ached to run his fingers through it.

"You know," she said, her eyes twinkling with laughter again, "You could have said, 'Of course not. I would never leave with you still here.'

Her Antivan accent was good. Too good. It made his chest feel tight whenever she pretended to be him. He grinned back at her despite himself.

"I would never leave with you still here," he said. "You'll have me for as long as I can put off the Crows."

He saw her brow furrow slightly, but she hid it quickly.

Before he could let his nerves interfere, he stood up, setting his half empty cup down on the table as he did.

"I may have had another reason for leaving the party early," he said, letting his voice drop slightly. He saw her eyes narrow, but then she gave him a crooked grin.

"Besides coffee, you mean?"

He walked past her, to the open space between the dining table and the door, and held out his hand to her.

"Dance with me," he said softly.

It was the first time he'd seen her truly taken aback. To his delight, her mouth even dropped slightly open.

"Dance with you?" She asked, as if he'd just asked her to jump into the Fade.

"What?" He asked.

"There's no music. Also, I told you," she said, shoulders tensing again, "I'm a terrible dancer."

She had. Technically she'd told all of them.

You'd have to get me drunk first, I'm afraid, it's mortifying otherwise. I got told I have about four left feet.

"You did," he said, still holding out his hand. "But you also said you loved to dance."

She tilted her head to the side, almost pleading.

"It's only me," he said softly.

"That's what's worrying me," she said, almost too quiet for him to hear, and he remembered that this was as new to her as it was to him.

What would a first kiss taste like?

Like hope.

She held back for a moment longer, then hesitantly, she placed her fingers in his hand.

They were warm, and her callouses scraped against his own as she allowed him to pull her close to him. His heart thumped in his chest, as if it was trying to get to her.

"I don't know how to do this," she said, and he knew she wasn't only talking about the dancing.

"Like this," he said, curling his left hand around her right, and placing the other one on his shoulder.

"Your elbow has to stay up," he said seriously, lifting said elbow so it was almost in line with her shoulder before dropping his hand to her waist. "Caterina would smack me with a cane if I got it wrong."

"If you try and smack me with a cane..." she started, leaving the threat unfinished.

"I couldn't find one," he said. She tried to hide a grin, but her dimples gave her away, and suddenly those hours with Caterina and her cane seemed worth it to him.

"Now," he said, "step back with your right foot."

She did, looking at her feet, and he followed, relishing the warmth of her hand on his shoulder, the way his hand fit perfectly on her waist.

"Back and to the left with the other."

She did so, and he followed.

"Now bring your feet together, and do the same with the other foot."

They went slowly, and he enjoyed watching the crease between her eyebrows as she concentrated.

Gently, he let go of her waist so he could tilt her face up to his own.

"You should look your partner in the eyes," he said, aware that his voice had dropped lower, but not really caring, "Not where you are going to step."

"And if I step wrong?" She asked, her voice slightly breathy. It felt like soft fingers tracing their way down his spine.

"Trust me to guide you," he replied, his hand going back to her waist.

The corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly.

"Alright," she said. "I trust you."

As they moved slowly through the room, the firelight caught her eyes and hair, gilding her in gold and taking his breath from him. In fact, breathing felt suddenly like a very big effort.

"What is it?" She asked quietly, almost as if she was scared he would run if she spoke too loudly. He wasn't too certain he wouldn't.

"You are so beautiful," he said, before he could think about it too much, though his voice was markedly less smooth than it had been.

Her eyes, her beautiful, sparkling eyes, widened slightly.

"Really?" She asked.

"Would I ever lie to you?"

She smiled. It was small and soft this time.

"No one's ever called me that before," she whispered.

"Good," he managed to whisper back. "I would have to kill them."

And she laughed. By the blood of the Maker, she laughed and every terrible moment up until just then seemed as though it had a purpose.

"There's that smile," he said, when her laughter died down.

"Yours too," she replied, still grinning happily at him.

"Thank you, Rook," he found himself saying.

"You don't need to thank me."

She leaned in slightly, mischief in her eyes.

"For you, it's on the house."

His stomach tightened slightly when she did the accent, but he tried his best to ignore it.

"Did Illario hurt you?" He asked. "I'll skin him if he did."

She touched the scratch on her neck from Illario's, thankfully unpoisoned, blade.

"A scratch," she said dissmissively. "He hurt my pride more than anything else."

They moved for a few seconds in silence while he waited for her to ask the obvious next question.

"Do you regret..."

"Giving him a chance?"

He'd been thinking about it since they had left Villa Dellamorte.

Didn't you tell me he was basically your brother and your closest childhood friend?

"No," he said. "You were right. He's family."

Family. The word tasted sour in his mouth.

"I didn't even suspect him," he said. "When the Venatori caught me on the boat in Tevinter, it never even crossed my mind."

Almost without meaning to, he brought her right hand to his heart, his fingers tightening over hers. She lay her head on his shoulder as he pulled her closer, a solid weight against him. A comfort, for the first time in his life.

"He's better than I thought," he said, absently resting his cheek against her head. Her hair smelled of lightning, and a faint, almost unnoticeable trace of honey. "Maybe there is hope for him yet."

She snorted a soft laugh through her nose, making him grin. It vanished quickly, though.

"But this wasn't a mercy. Being watched by all the Crows, with their knives out? He will never live down being the Traitor Crow, brought down in front of everyone. There is nowhere he can run."

"I was surprised you listened to me," she said. He felt her breath tickle his neck, involuntarily clutched her closer against him.

"So was I," he said. "But... I don't have a lot to lose. What there is... Caterina, this team... you, even my idiot cousin. I'm not giving that up."

She stopped moving, lifting her head up to look at him. She wore the softest smile he'd ever seen on her face.

"What's that look?"

"You have a big heart," she said softly, "For an assassin."

He tried to look away at the tone of her voice, at the emotion in it, but she gently turned his face toward her again.

"That's not a bad thing," she said.

"If it brought me here," he said, taking her hand again and kissing it on a whim, "To this moment with you, then it cannot be a bad thing. I just... I cannot believe he would do all of this, only to be First Talon."

She frowned up at him.

"He said you didn't want to be First Talon."

"I don't. But how am I supposed to trust him with it now? How is anyone? The funny thing is, he might have finally proven he has the abillity for it."

"Right before getting humilliated in front of everyone," she said, grinning slightly.

"Exactly."

He sighed, though it came out as more of a frustrated growl.

"Fucking Illario."

"Hey," she said, gently reaching up and smoothing out the crease between his brows. The gesture made his chest ache.

"We'll work it out," she said softly. "Together. But for now... "

He took her hand again, holding it to his chest so she could feel his heartbeat.

"Just be here with me," she said. "Just for a little while."

"I can do that," he said. "For a little while."

She smiled, and he could see the day was starting to get to her, the tiredness starting to reach her eyes.

"Rook..." he started, not sure what he was going to say, but needing to say something before his chest caved in on itsself. She cut him off before he could.

"Shhhh," she said gently, kissing him for a long moment before laying her head back on his shoulder. He forgot, sometimes, that he could kiss her. Usually, Spite was there to remind him, with enthusiasm. It scared him, how much he ached to feel her lips against his own.

"Don't ruin it."

So he held her close, and kissed her forehead, and later he let her fall asleep on his lap in the chair, savouring the way she held on to his hand even in sleep, and finally letting his fingers run through her hair, softer than silk against his skin.

[gay-dorito-dust]

heyy idk if u still write for percy jackson or not ,, but if u do could u pls write a percy jackson x reader fluff?

Does this count as fluff? 🦦

‘Do you ever take anything seriously for more than five minutes?’ You hissed at Percy who was crouched down next to you, looking over your shoulder for an escape route before looking at you with a smile.

‘Four minutes is my maximum but there’s always room for improvement.’ Percy replied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders as you groaned in response, wondering why you even bothered asking in the first place when the answer was quite clear; You even started questioning whether or not it was the smartest decision you’ve ever made in asking him to pair up with you for this because it seemed that Percy would often make his sarcastic, witty comments whenever the opportunity arrived for a more serious hand.

‘I’m severely doubting that.’ You muttered and that was enough for Percy to switch up his approach and grabbed your hand, gently but firm. ‘Hey,’ you looked back at him hopelessly, causing him to strengthen his hold on your hand, ‘I promised that I’d get us out of here and-‘

‘We’re cornered Percy.’ You cut in, already having accepted your losses and wanted it to be all over with. ‘We’ll never win against them, it’s hopeless and besides why didn’t you save yourself when you had the chance?’ You laughed humourlessly. ‘You could’ve thrown me to them and still win the whole thing, after all I’m not as smart as Annabeth or as strong as you or Thalia. So tell me what good could come from getting yourself cornered here with me?’

Percy clenched his jaw at that and said without hesitation. ‘At least I get to be with you at the end of everything.’ Your eyes widened. ‘I wasn’t going to leave you, alright? I couldn’t leave you back there even if I tried because you know as much as I that isn’t who I am.’ Percy then leaned his forehead against yours as he spoke again but this time it was barely above a whisper as though he didn’t want anyone else to hear this but you. ‘I’m never leaving your side, not now, not ever. even if it kills me, I’ll still be there by your side; Victory and Valour be damned.’

You were left speechless and taken aback by how impassioned his speech was that you felt as though you could take on anything and everything, so much that you found yourself reinvigorated with the need to see this through and make it out the other side the winners. Percy, happy to see the spark back in your eyes smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead before pressing his head against it once more with a fire in his eyes.

‘Now, what do you say we show ‘em what we’re made of?’ He asks and you mirror the smirk he had on his lips.

‘Let’s go and kick some Ares and Aphrodite kids’ ass.’ You replied.

On a count of three, you and Percy leaped out from your cover and ran towards Silena and Clarisse with your weapons raised, the pair were more then ready and waiting to draw you both out of hiding, also leapt into action.

Tag rugby in Camp Half Blood was a vicious game and tended to bring the worst out of everyone but at least you could say you’ve won one game with Percy by your side.

[softkostyk]

Apparently AO3 needs to give the collection approval before they can post it , but I’m impatient, so here’s my Angelblack one shot set about a week after 1x08 (the Rupert/Cameron issue is not discussed, but I imagined a scenario on which it was somehow dealt with).

anxious angel I’ll wrap you in heart shaped bubble wrap so you won’t get hurt

“Daddy is going to murder you,” Taggie said with a light shake of the head, strawberry blonde hair catching the early morning sunlight just outside the Priory. Rupert had started visiting at times where Declan was less likely to see him and Taggie alone–and he had quickly grown rather tired of it. He didn’t want his feelings for Taggie to be a secret. He didn’t think he’d been doing that good of a job at hiding them, anyway.

“I very much doubt that,” said Rupert with a tilt of the head. “Blood is a nuisance to clean off tapestry.”

Taggie looked up at him with a raised eyebrow that Rupert knew exactly translated to “Be serious”.

“Angel,” he started again, reaching to touch her shoulders. “He will be pissed. I can agree on that. He will try to pummel my face with his fists. But he will also have to surrender, eventually.”

“Declan O’ Hara doesn’t surrender,” Taggie sighed. “You saw his reaction to those photos in the car–and we weren’t doing anything.”

“You can make your own decisions,” Rupert provided unhelpfully.

“Yes, but I am still afraid. I don’t want to lose my dad. And I’m sure you don’t want to lose your friend.”

How typical of Taggie, hitting the target with all the precision of a professional archer. Of course Rupert didn’t want to lose Declan’s friendship. Hell, his only true (human) friend had been Lizzie for so long, he’d grown quite addicted to being able to rely on more than one person. He’d always known it was dangerous–just as befriending, and developing feelings for Taggie had been.

But there was no going back, was it? He meant what he told her. He hadn’t realized just how much harder it had become, something as simple as breathing, before he met her. Watching her with someone else felt like being stabbed in the chest by a thousand fireplace pokers. And for perhaps the first time in his life, being with someone else felt like true betrayal; to Taggie, and to himself. He wanted to be the man she thought he could be. He wanted it desperately. And Declan would have to just bloody deal with it.

***

Taggie entered the kitchen first, eyeing her father warily as he absentmindedly puffed on a cigarette, the day’s newspaper spread across one bent knee.

“Dad,” Taggie made herself say. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“I’m all ears, love,” he said without taking his eyes off the paper. Taggie stopped fidgeting with the sleeve of her jumper.

Rupert slowly walked into the room, his usual easy gate, a small, if tight smile on his lips.

That caught Declan’s attention.

“What are you doing here? The meeting is in a few hours,” he said, his mustache twitching in a curious smile.

Taggie glanced at Rupert, who in turn glanced at her.

“I wish I could say I am sorry, Declan,” he said as he took hold of Taggie’s hand. Her heart was beating rabbit-fast against her ribcage.

Her dad’s smile quickly evaporated as his brown eyes moved to Taggie and Rupert’s joined hands.

“No,” he said. One short, inescapable word.

“Declan,” Rupert started, but he got up, the chair scraping horribly against the tiled floor.

“Again? Fucking again? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Daddy, please–”

“Your room, Tag. Now.”

“I’m not a child! I will not be banished to my room when the conversation is about me, Dad!” She held tight onto Rupert’s rough palm, gripped onto his fingers for dear life. She would not back down, and she would not be quiet.

“You get your hands off her in the next two seconds, or I’ll break your fucking nose, Campbell,” her dad said, ignoring her entirely.

“Fine,” Rupert said, and Taggie’s head was already whipping towards him, but Rupert’s encouraging nod made her loosen her grip on his hand. “See?” He added, raising both palms in a placating gesture.

“What the fuck did you do to her, mmh?”

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Rupert said ruefully. “It was one kiss, Declan. Maybe two–”

But her dad was already crushing Rupert’s freshly pressed shirt in his fists and slamming him against the nearest cabinet, its content rattling wildly.

“Dad!”

“You think I won’t kill you? Are you testing me?” He said, eyes ablaze as Rupert gritted his teeth, clearly not wanting to hit back.

“I need you to listen to me–”

“Shut the fuck up!” Declan roared. “You are not going to be shagging my daughter, do you understand? She will not be a bloody notch in your belt!”

“Do you remember when you interviewed me?” Rupert asked after her dad smashed him against the fridge, this time. Taggie was torn between screaming and crying.

“I should have fucking ruined you when I had the–”

“You asked me if I’d ever been in love!” Rupert shouted, and her dad went dreadfully still. Rupert took a breath and then said, “I said I hadn’t. And I thought I hadn’t–I didn’t think I could.”

He looked over at Taggie over her father’s shoulder, and her lips parted in surprise.

“I can apologise for hurting you, Declan. But I cannot apologise for the way I feel about Taggie.”

Taggie wanted to grab his father’s shoulders and pull him away from Rupert, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Taggie had never been good with words–which her mother never allowed her to forget–but in that moment, she thought there weren’t any words that would suffice to explain the rumbling in her chest, the tightness in ehr throat.

Her father kept one arm against Rupert’s neck as he turned to look at her. There was something complicated in his expression–sad, almost. Taggie couldn’t bear it.

“He’s going to hurt you,” he said, as if it were obvious. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“So which is it? I’m a stupid child, but he’s not good enough?”

“I never called you that,” he hissed.

Taggie shook her head, expelling a shaky breath. “If I get hurt, then I get hurt.”

Her dad’s dark eyebrows joined on his forehead. Rupert’s eyes were only for her–even when he was risking being beaten half to death.

“I did everything right. I went out with Sebastian. I tried, and I couldn’t do it. I don’t want to be unhappy for the sake of p–p–propriety. I’ve been doing everything I can to keep everyone happy, but that’s it, daddy. I want to be happy, too. I think I deserve it.”

Her dad seemed, impossibly, lost. Until a few days ago she’d never seen him at a loss for words–and now, twice in the span of days. First when her mother left for London, and now.

“He is twice your age, Tag,” he said then, helplessly.

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” she shrugged, pressing her lips together.

He let go of Rupert then, though Taggie suspected it had less to do with him not wanting to hurt the man anymore, and more with wanting to give her his full attention, if only this once. Rupert released a quiet breath, straightening. She hoped he wouldn’t be stupid enough to talk.

“He beds a different woman every other day. He will let you down, Tag. Men like him always do.” He fished in his pocket to grab another cigarette, and Taggie wordlessly passed him the matchsticks box.

“Maybe. Maybe things can be different.” She could never know it for sure, but she believed in Rupert. She felt it, somewhere deep inside her, that he could be who she needed him to be. And most importantly, that he wanted to.

“Things are different,” Rupert said quietly. Her dad grimaced around the cigarette, slowly turning to face Rupert once more.

“Say I give you my blessing–which I will not. How are you going to protect her, mmh? The press would get wind of it soon enough. Brand her as your plaything.” He spit out the last word, and Taggie frowned at the prospect.

“I will do whatever is necessary. I won’t let anyone speak ill of Taggie, and if they do, they’ll find themselves jobless the day after. You know I can do that.”

Taggie bit on her lower lip; she didn’t think she was terribly fragile, and she had been trying hard not to care about what others might think of her. But the sheer protectiveness in Rupert’s tone warmed her from the inside out, and she’d be lying if she didn’t say it made her feel safe, to know he would be in her corner, no matter what.

“And if I ban her from seeing you? If I kick her out when she doesn’t?”

Taggie shook her head, her stomach dropping as she called for her dad, but Rupert said, “I don’t think you would do that. But if you do, she has a place to stay.”

“Remember when I interviewed you?” Her dad added after an eternity, mocking Rupert’s question from a few minutes before. “I lied. I was very much not bluffing–and I can still hurt you with what I have.”

Rupert’s eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised–but he shouldn’t have been. Taggie had hoped that was all in the past, but she knew her father too well to think he didn’t have some cards left to play. Rupert hung his head, and Taggie trembled, afraid he would just accept defeat.

“Send it to The Scorpion, then.”

Taggie’s breath wooshed out of her, and Declan stilled.

“Whatever it is, it cannot possibly hurt more than giving Taggie up.”

Taggie knew she had to exercise some self restraint if she didn’t want to be calling an ambulance up at the Priory for the second time, but she couldn’t stop herself from walking past her dad and to Rupert’s side. He gave her a small smile, and she smiled right back.

When she turned, her dad’s cigarette was a stub between his fingers. He looked between the two of them, and so much was swirling in his eyes–disappointment, worry, hurt. Taggie didn’t know what resignation looked like on Declan O’ Hara’s features, but she thought she might be glimpsing something like it now.

“Venturer needs your money,” he said. “I don’t like it. I don’t like that you are doing this to me. If you want to stay, you’ll have to stay out of my sight.”

Rupert nodded, and some part of Taggie felt selfish for forcing him to give up something Ruper had quite literally everything riding on. But the other part of her, the part that was louder and braver, couldn’t help but relish in the knowledge she was more important to him than Venturer. Than her dad’s friendship. Than, potentially, his reputation.

“Alright,” Rupert said, his knuckles brushing Taggie’s. He gave her a long look, and Taggie wanted to kiss him, but there would be many more chances to do just that. Rupert left, Declan trembling with restrained rage and without sparing him a glance.

“Daddy,” Taggie breathed.

He shook his head, raising one hand to silence her, and stormed out of the room.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She squeezed them shut, held out for the nearest chair to steady her. She didn’t want her dad to hate her, to think her naive, to stop talking to her.

But, in truth, she was also relieved.

Caitlin would support her–Patrick too, maybe. And Rupert would be there. She was choosing herself, for the very first time, and it filled her with such potent light, she promised herself she would never go back to the shadows.

***

“I’m sorry,” Taggie told Rupert that evening as they walked, hand in hand, down the sloping path that took them from Lizzie’s house to the Priory. She’d invited Rupert for tea, and Taggie had joined them as soon as she could get there. Lizzie had been mildly surprised–more about Taggie, than about Rupert. He appreciated Lizzie speaking her mind, openly telling Tag to be careful, and warning him not to screw things up.

“What about?” Rupert asked.

“Dad,” she said simpy. “Working with him is going to be a nightmare.”

Rupert chuckled, his thumb drawing soothing motions across Taggie’s. He felt her shiver slightly, and he pressed his shoulder to hers. “You know I love a challenge.”

“You can pretend it doesn’t hurt, but I know it does.”

He closed his eyes briefly, then said a simple, “Yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

He turned to her, and the feeble orange light from the setting sun hit her blue eyes. He’d never seen anything more lovely. “Not one bit.”

Taggie laughed, for the first time today, and Rupert smiled back. He was so unabashedly happy to see her happy–to know that for all the people he’d hurt, there was one person in the world he would never. Could never. It wasn’t redemption, but it was real. His chest stirred with affection too strong to be contained, and they stopped in the street as he pulled her close, splaying his fingers on her waist. She smiled up at him again. He felt as if he’d been touched by the sun for the very first time.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said. Taggie whispered an acnowledgement, eyes bright.

So he did.

He held her close as their lips touched, her mouth tasting faintly of the chocolate she had at Lizzie’s. Her soft hands came up to his face, caressing him gently, in a way no one ever had before. They detached, briefly, and though it’d been a chaste enough kiss, Rupert had to stop to get back his breath.

“You really are an angel,” he said.

“Angels look over people,” she replied. “Keep them safe.”

Rupert nodded. “I’m no angel. But I’ll do the same for you.”

Taggie stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth, Rupert’s eyes fluttering closed.

“I know,” she said, putting her hand in the crook of Rupert’s arm.

And he walked her home.

[artyandink]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 2

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, daydreaming, talk of rape, sa, abortion, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: The Man by Taylor Swift

new country

“Madam President!”

“Over here!”

“What are your plans to reform America?”

Paparazzi kept on yelling those questions even though you were perfectly capable of stating every one of your new legislations and ideas one by one. Lucky this was a closed conference, lowering the chance of an assassination, and Dean’s eyes were scanning the crowd anyway for any reporter who could suddenly yank out a .38.

You raised your hand, clearing your throat. “It’s only been about a week since I’ve been elected, but I can, with confidence, share with you my plans to reform legislations and laws in the States. As of tomorrow, after a majority vote, abortion has now become legal in all fifty states.”

The statement became an outcry, reporters and journalists yelling questions as to why, so you had to hold up your hand again with a strong urge to roll your eyes in disdain. Seriously, why can’t these guys ever shut up? “It’s a controversial decision.” You agreed, looking intently at the members of the audience. “I’m wholeheartedly aware, but we have to think of the people who would suffer. Victims of rape who end up pregnant would have to keep their child, and depending on the case, the mother could end up with severe post-natal depression which could affect both the child and their mother, which would do more harm than aborting the child. If a mother’s baby won’t make it to birth, she can’t do a thing to stop the baby’s suffering from happening in the first place. Abortion is a right that should be possessed by every woman in the country, and in addition to this, a psych evaluation will be conducted by licensed professionals to determine any external pressures or lingering doubts.”

You had felt your air running out, so you took a sip of your water before continuing on with your long list of tasks and responsibilities for the presidential serve. “I want to improve relations with our allies in NATO, and there will be foundations in order to support anyone in the States who is in need of education. And, by the end of my service as this country’s president, I want to have America make the switch to renewable sources of energy and be sure that the production of energy in factories is the minority.”

“Any questions?” Becky asked, waving her pen around a little as she looked inquisitively around the room, this fucking room with pretentious reporters who ask stupid questions.

One reporter raised their hand, so Becky nodded and pointed with her pen. “How does it feel, being the youngest elected and the first female to become president? You’re making history.”

“Well, as John F Kennedy said: it’s time for a new generation of leadership.” You smiled— that question wasn’t half bad, really. You knew you were breaking history’s records and taking America in a new direction, but it was for the best. “It’s an odd feeling, as I’ve been raised in a country with men as our presidents, but I’d say I owe a lot of my success to my family, my friends and my fellow candidate, Amara Shurley. She gave me a run for my money, and she’s an incredible woman that only inspired me to do better.”

Another reporter with his hand up. “A lot of women across the States see you as a symbol for feminism. What is your response to this statement?”

Well, that one wasn’t unheard of, you’d give it that. “I’m whoever the people want me to be.” You gave a light shrug, you didn’t really think of that question. You just said what felt natural. “If they need a feminist symbol, they can look to me. If people need reassurance and safety, they can look to me. The only thing I won’t be able to stand is that the good citizens of America can’t put their trust in me because of a contingency or the other.”

You glanced at Becky, who nodded toward the man. He was middle-aged, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a self-assured smirk that screamed, I’ve got something to prove. The logo of his network—one notoriously critical of your policies—was emblazoned on his press badge.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice carrying an edge of condescension that set your teeth on edge. “You’ve outlined ambitious plans for reform, and your stance on women’s rights is certainly bold. But there’s one decision you’ve made that has raised quite a few eyebrows.” He leaned forward slightly, as if positioning himself for a dramatic reveal. “What do you say to critics who question the wisdom of hiring an ex-hitman—someone with a documented history of violence—to serve as your personal bodyguard? Isn’t it hypocritical to preach about progress and morality while employing someone like him?”

For a moment, silence blanketed the room. The question hung in the air, sharp and cutting, as the reporters collectively held their breath, waiting to see how you would respond. You felt the prickle of heat rise along your neck and shoulders, not from embarrassment, but from sheer frustration.

You glanced briefly at Dean, whose expression was impassive, though his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He stood still, his hands resting lightly at his sides, but you could tell the question had landed like a punch to the gut.

You took a deep breath, the crisp scent of polished wood and faint cologne grounding you. Then, with a calm but unmistakable authority, you leaned forward into the microphone.

“That’s an excellent question,” you began, though your tone suggested otherwise. Your eyes locked on the reporter, and your gaze was steady, unflinching. “And it gives me an opportunity to address an issue that’s long overdue for clarification. You see, I don’t make decisions lightly—especially not decisions that concern my safety and the safety of this nation. When I selected Mr. Winchester as my personal bodyguard, I did so with full knowledge of his history.”

The reporter opened his mouth, but you held up a hand, silencing him without a word.

“Let me finish,” you said, your voice firm. “Yes, Dean Winchester has a past. But let’s talk about what that past really means. This is a man who, for better or worse, was shaped by circumstances beyond his control. He didn’t choose a life of crime; he was born into it. And yet, despite everything, he possesses a set of skills and a depth of experience that make him uniquely qualified to protect me—and, by extension, the American people.”

You straightened, your tone sharpening. “Critics like you are quick to point fingers and make judgments from a position of privilege, ignoring the fact that people can change. Redemption isn’t just a talking point for me; it’s a belief I hold deeply. If we can’t offer second chances to those who’ve earned them, then what kind of country are we building?”

The murmurs in the room grew louder, but you pressed on, your words cutting through the noise.

“Dean Winchester has spent the last year proving himself. He passed the most rigorous background checks, psychological evaluations, and combat training our government has to offer. He’s saved lives, prevented threats, and put himself in harm’s way to protect others. And for that, I trust him with my life. So if you want to question my decision, you’re not just questioning his character—you’re questioning mine.”

The room fell silent again, your words hitting their mark. You could feel the eyes of every reporter on you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Becky nodding subtly, her expression one of quiet approval.

You leaned into the microphone one last time, your gaze boring into the reporter who had asked the question. “And let me be perfectly clear: I don’t answer to cynics like you. I answer to the American people. So, if you’d like to discuss this further, I suggest you start by addressing me with the respect this office demands.”

The tension in the room was electric, the kind of silence that felt loud in its weight. The reporter, clearly taken aback, sank slightly in his seat, his smirk replaced by a look of unease.

You straightened your posture, smoothing the front of your blazer as you surveyed the room. “Next question?”

A younger journalist, her notebook clutched tightly, hesitantly raised her hand. Becky nodded to her, and she stood, her voice steady but cautious. “Madam President, thank you for your response. Building on that, how do you see your administration addressing broader issues of criminal justice reform and rehabilitation?”

Finally, a question with substance. You allowed yourself a small, appreciative smile. “That’s an excellent question,” you said. “One of my top priorities is ensuring that our criminal justice system focuses not only on punishment but on rehabilitation. Too many people are trapped in a cycle of incarceration because they’re not given the tools or opportunities to reintegrate into society. We need to invest in education, job training, and mental health support—both inside and outside of our prison system.”

You glanced briefly at Dean again, finding a flicker of reassurance in his steady presence. “Because if we’re serious about building a better future, we need to recognize that people are more than their worst mistakes.”

The press conference continued, the reporters slowly shifting their focus back to policy questions and legislative plans. But the earlier exchange lingered in the back of your mind, a reminder of the battles yet to come.

As the session wrapped up and you stepped away from the podium, Dean was there, a quiet shadow at your side.

“Hell of a response,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced at him, catching the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. “They don’t pay me to hold back,” you replied, your tone wry.

“No,” he said, his eyes scanning the room one last time as he followed you toward the exit. “They pay you to lead.”

And as you stepped into the corridor, leaving the chaos of the press behind, you couldn’t help but feel that, for once, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“No offence here, ma’am, but I think your fans are crazy.” Dean chuckled as he saw a post on Instagram that was now trending because he apparently was giving daddy.

Whatever the fuck ‘giving’ meant. He was a giver in the bedroom, if that’s what it was referring to. Below it were hundreds of comments, many of which seemed less than presidential.

You glanced at the phone, then back at him, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “Welcome to my world,” you replied dryly, setting your pen down and leaning back in your chair. “You’d be amazed how quickly people can spiral over a photo.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he scrolled through the comments. “‘He could protect me any day’,” he read aloud, his tone mocking but amused. “‘Please, sir, ruin my life.’” He glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. “Do they know I’m literally hired to ruin other people’s lives if necessary?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “They probably think that’s part of the appeal.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t even know what half of this means,” he said, squinting at the screen. “Apparently I’m ‘giving daddy’? Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.” He looked genuinely puzzled, and it only made the situation funnier.

You laughed outright at that, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Dean, it just means they think you’re hot.”

His smirk widened as he pocketed his phone. “So, basically, I’m a meme now.”

“Pretty much.”

Dean leaned against the edge of your desk, crossing his arms as he gave you an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. “You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “I’m starting to think you hired me purely for my looks.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile didn’t falter. “Oh, please.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Be honest with me, ma’am. You saw the jawline, the broad shoulders, the smoldering intensity—”

“Smoldering intensity?” you interrupted, arching an eyebrow.

He gestured toward his face, grinning. “And you thought, This guy? Perfect for standing around looking menacing and driving Instagram wild.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, shaking your head as you looked at him. “Dean, I hired you because you’re qualified. Your record speaks for itself.”

He tilted his head, feigning skepticism. “But you did notice the jawline, right?”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” you said, swatting at his arm playfully.

He chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, ma’am. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone appreciates the package.”

You sighed, folding your arms and giving him an exaggeratedly serious look. “Fine. You’re attractive, Dean. Happy?”

He grinned, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Very.”

“But,” you continued, holding up a finger, “that’s not why I hired you. I needed the best, and you are. Everything else is just a… bonus.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, the usual weight of your responsibilities felt lighter.

The playful banter between you continued, a rare moment of levity in the otherwise intense environment of the Oval Office. Dean settled into the chair opposite your desk, leaning back with an easy confidence that only added to his inexplicable charm.

“So,” he said, his tone conspiratorial, “how does it feel knowing your bodyguard is officially the internet’s new crush?”

You smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Honestly? It’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “You’re all stoic and intimidating most of the time, and now half the country wants to climb you like a tree.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Well, if you ever get tired of being President, you could have a solid career in stand-up comedy.”

You grinned, enjoying the back-and-forth more than you cared to admit. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A short pause, but it felt good, light. He didn’t seem like the typical bodyguard, you could actually have conversations with him.

“Well,” he said, standing and stretching slightly, “if you ever want to go viral again, just let me know. I’m apparently great at it.”

“Noted,” you replied with a grin.

As he made his way to the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk firmly in place. “And for the record, ma’am? If I ever need a second career, I’ll just put ‘hot bodyguard’ on my résumé.”

You laughed, shaking your head as he disappeared into the hallway. “Good luck with that, Winchester.”

And as you returned to your work, a small smile lingered on your lips. Dean might drive you crazy sometimes, but moments like this made it impossible not to appreciate the man behind the reputation.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the Oval Office, filtering through the tall windows and highlighting the meticulously maintained room. Papers were spread across your desk in organized chaos, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. You’d been working for hours, signing documents, reviewing proposals, and making notes in neat, precise handwriting. The quiet hum of the office was almost soothing—your assistant, Becky, had left to run errands, leaving you to your thoughts and tasks.

You leaned back in your chair for a moment, massaging the tension from your neck. The weight of the presidency wasn’t something you’d underestimated, but there were days, like today, when it pressed harder than usual. Still, the sense of purpose it gave you was unshakable. Every signature on these documents was a step toward the vision you had for the country.

As you reached for your coffee mug, the door opened quietly, and Dean stepped inside. You looked up, unsurprised—his ability to move without a sound still startled most people, but you’d grown accustomed to it.

He was out of his suit jacket now, the dark gray fabric slung over one arm. His white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, revealed strong forearms, and the faint shadow of a day’s stubble added to his rugged appearance. Dean wasn’t one for idle conversation or intrusions without purpose, so you set your pen down and gave him your full attention.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice as steady and low as ever. But there was something in his tone—an edge of hesitancy, maybe even guilt—that caught your attention.

“Yes, Dean?” you prompted, tilting your head slightly.

He stepped closer, standing just in front of the desk, his hands resting on the back of one of the chairs. He seemed to consider his words carefully before speaking.

“I wanted to say… you didn’t have to do that. Back at the press conference.” His green eyes met yours, earnest and unguarded in a way they rarely were. “Defending me like that, in front of all those reporters. It wasn’t necessary.”

You blinked, surprised by his sincerity. You leaned forward slightly, resting your forearms on the desk. “Dean,” you said gently, “of course it was necessary.”

He shook his head, the movement quick and almost dismissive. “No, it wasn’t. My past is my burden to carry, not yours. You’re already under enough scrutiny as it is. I don’t need to add to it.”

The vulnerability in his words tugged at something deep inside you. Dean Winchester was a fortress of a man—strong, guarded, and unflinching in his role as your protector. But in this moment, he was letting you see the cracks in that armor, the part of him that carried the weight of his past like a scar that wouldn’t heal.

You stood, pushing your chair back slightly as you rounded the desk. His eyes followed you as you came to stand beside him, your expression calm but firm.

“Dean,” you began, your voice softer now, “I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I chose you for this job. I knew your history. I knew how people might react. And I didn’t care.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as though struggling to accept your words.

“Listen to me,” you continued, stepping closer. “I’m not just your employer. I’m your ally. And when someone questions my decisions —when they question you— it’s my responsibility to set the record straight.”

He let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh, and looked back at you. There was something in his expression that made your chest ache— a mix of gratitude and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite fathom why you’d stand up for him so fiercely.

“You’ve earned your place here, Dean,” you said, your tone unwavering. “And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was contemplative, a shared moment of understanding. Dean nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“You’re stubborn,” he said after a moment, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles.

You chuckled softly. “I’ve been called worse.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a brief moment, you felt the intensity of it like a tangible weight. But then he straightened, rolling his shoulders back as if shrugging off the last remnants of doubt.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “For believing in me.”

“Always,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a small, sincere smile.

The atmosphere shifted, the earlier tension giving way to a more relaxed ease. Dean glanced at the paperwork strewn across your desk, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You’ve been at this all day,” he said, nodding toward the stack of documents. “When’s the last time you took a break?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll take a break when I’m done.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “That’s not how that works, Madam President. You can’t run a country if you run yourself into the ground.”

You sighed, knowing he had a point but unwilling to admit it outright. “I’ll take a break soon,” you conceded.

“Good,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Because if you don’t, I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound light and genuine. “I’d like to see you try.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment, you saw the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, and there was a warmth in his voice that made your chest feel lighter.

As he turned to leave, you called after him. “Dean.” He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” you said, your smile soft but full of meaning, “I think you’re doing a damn good job.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Finally, he gave a small nod, his lips curving into a quiet, appreciative smile.

“Thanks, boss,” he said, and with that, he left the room, his footsteps fading into the hallway beyond.

You returned to your desk, the papers waiting patiently for your attention. But for the first time that day, the weight of the work didn’t feel quite so heavy. You’d stood up for someone who deserved it, and in doing so, you’d strengthened a bond that went far beyond the professional.

As you picked up your pen, a thought crossed your mind—one that made you smile. Dean Winchester might not be perfect, but he was exactly the kind of person you wanted in your corner. And if the rest of the world couldn’t see that, well, that was their loss.

The day after the press conference, the Oval Office was already humming with its usual controlled chaos. You were deep in paperwork, focused on revising yet another draft of a new energy initiative, when your assistant, Becky, buzzed in to inform you that Bella and Steph had arrived.

You sighed fondly. Of course, they had. They’d been texting nonstop since the moment the press conference aired, full of commentary about your plans and, predictably, about Dean.

“They’re here to see you,” Becky said over the intercom, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you replied, shaking your head with a small smile.

Bella and Steph didn’t wait long. As soon as they were cleared to approach the Oval Office, they strode down the hallway, chatting animatedly, their voices carrying just enough to alert Dean, who stood stationed just outside the office door.

He looked up from where he was scrolling through security updates on his phone, his sharp green eyes assessing the two women as they approached. His posture was relaxed but professional, and his expression shifted to one of slight curiosity as he took them in.

Bella was the first to notice him. She slowed her pace, her jaw slackening just slightly as her gaze took him in—head to toe and back up again. Steph, walking just behind her, barely contained a whistle as she caught sight of Dean standing there in his dark suit and tie, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

“Uh, excuse me?” Bella said, stopping directly in front of him with a hand on her hip. Her voice was playful, bordering on flirtatious. “You must be the Dean Winchester.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, tucking his phone into his pocket. “That’d be me,” he replied, his tone even but laced with caution.

Steph stepped up beside Bella, giving him a once-over with such blatant appreciation that Dean shifted slightly, his expression an amusing mix of bemusement and wariness. “Oh, wow,” Steph said, dragging out the words. “She wasn’t kidding. You’re even better-looking in person.”

Bella nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, we saw the pictures, but they didn’t do you justice. You’re—what’s the phrase?—‘giving everything.’”

Dean blinked, his lips quirking into an involuntary smirk despite himself. “Appreciate it,” he said dryly, “but I think you’re looking for the President. She’s inside.”

Bella waved a hand dismissively. “We’re her friends. She won’t mind if we take a moment to admire her excellent taste in bodyguards.”

Dean let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not exactly how she put it.”

Steph leaned in slightly, her grin downright mischievous. “So, Dean, what’s the story here? Are you single? Because if you’re not, you really need to start considering the President. You two would be perfect together.”

Dean raised both eyebrows at that, his smirk turning incredulous. “That’s… bold,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bella wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. She’s brilliant, gorgeous, and now she’s the President. And you? You’re a literal ex-hitman who looks like you walked off the cover of GQ. It’s a match made in tabloid heaven.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he might’ve said was interrupted as you stepped out of the office, arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the scene unfolding before you.

“Really, ladies?” you said, your tone dripping with mock exasperation.

Bella and Steph whirled around, both grinning guiltily but unapologetically. “We were just getting to know your bodyguard,” Bella said, batting her lashes innocently.

“And suggesting he hook up with you,” Steph added helpfully, earning her a sharp elbow from Bella.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, sighing. “I knew letting you two anywhere near Dean was a mistake.”

“Can you blame us?” Bella asked, gesturing toward Dean like he was an exhibit at a museum. “I mean, look at him.”

Dean, to his credit, remained perfectly composed, though there was a faint pink tinge to his ears that you didn’t miss.

“I am looking at him,” you said dryly, then turned to Dean with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them. They don’t have a filter.”

Dean gave a half-smile, his voice carrying that familiar note of humor. “It’s fine, ma’am. I’ve heard worse.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” you replied, shooting Bella and Steph a pointed look. “But I’d rather they not embarrass themselves—or me—any further.”

Steph raised her hands in mock surrender. “We’re just stating the obvious. And for the record, you’re welcome.”

“For what?” you asked, exasperated.

“For giving you the perfect opportunity to admit he’s hot,” Bella said, winking.

You sighed, shaking your head as you stepped aside to usher them into the office. “Dean, can you make sure no one else tries to instigate a matchmaking session while I’m in there?”

He nodded, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “Consider it done.”

As Bella and Steph passed him, they both threw him one last playful look, Steph muttering, “Call us if you ever get tired of babysitting.”

Dean chuckled softly, shaking his head as the door closed behind them.

Inside, you turned to your friends with your hands on your hips. “Seriously? You couldn’t even wait until you got inside to start embarrassing me?”

Bella flopped onto one of the chairs, grinning. “Hey, we’re just looking out for you. And honestly, if you don’t lock that man down, someone else will.”

Steph nodded, leaning back against the desk. “He’s got that whole brooding, dangerous vibe going on. And those arms?” She mimed fanning herself, grinning wickedly.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “You do realize he’s standing right outside, don’t you?”

Bella shrugged. “Maybe he’ll take it as a compliment.”

You shot them both a look, your annoyance tempered by the amusement you couldn’t quite hide. “You’re impossible.”

As the three of you settled in to talk about why they’d actually come to visit, your thoughts briefly wandered to Dean outside the door. His composure, his humor, and the way he’d handled your friends’ antics—it all reminded you why you trusted him so much.

And, fine, you’d admit it. They weren’t wrong about the jawline.

The Oval Office was unnervingly quiet, save for the scratch of your pen against paper and the occasional shuffle of documents. You had spent hours entrenched in policy revisions, draft reviews, and enough bureaucracy to numb your senses entirely. A dull ache had started to build behind your eyes, but you powered through. It wasn’t like the President of the United States could take a sick day.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a long sigh as you pushed your current stack of papers aside. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows, bathing the room in a warm golden hue. For a moment, your mind wandered, your focus slipping as you stared at the faint pattern of light on the ceiling.

Then, the door to your office creaked open.

Your attention snapped back, your heart skipping at the sight of Dean stepping inside. He was dressed sharply as always, his dark suit tailored to perfection, though his tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves were pushed up just enough to reveal his strong forearms.

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.

Your breath came in short, shallow bursts as he pressed closer, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours. “You’ve been working too hard,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, his mouth crashed into yours, claiming you in a kiss so heated and consuming that it left no room for thought. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.

It was overwhelming—the warmth of his body, the taste of his kiss, the way his fingers dug into your waist with a possessive edge that sent sparks shooting through you.

And then—

“Madam President?” Becky’s voice crackled over the intercom, pulling you violently back to reality.

You blinked, your surroundings snapping into sharp focus. You were still in your chair, your desk untouched, your papers neatly stacked where you’d left them. Dean wasn’t in the room—wasn’t shirtless, wasn’t lifting you onto your desk, wasn’t kissing you like the world was ending.

Heat flooded your face as you sat up straight, your heart pounding in your chest for entirely different reasons now.

“Yes, Becky?” you managed, your voice slightly hoarse.

“You’ve got a visitor—Director Landry from the FBI. He’s here for the meeting regarding Agent Winchester’s appointment.”

Your stomach dropped, the implications of the daydream compounding the embarrassment that already burned hot in your chest. “Send him in,” you replied, clearing your throat to steady your voice.

Moments later, the door opened, and Director Landry entered, his crisp suit and severe demeanor a stark contrast to the imagined chaos of moments ago.

“Madam President,” he greeted with a nod.

“Director,” you replied, standing to shake his hand. “Please, have a seat.”

The two of you settled across from one another, and Landry wasted no time getting to the point. “I understand Agent Winchester’s appointment as your personal bodyguard was an unconventional decision.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you replied, your tone neutral but firm.

Landry leaned forward slightly, his hands folded on his lap. “While Agent Winchester’s skill set is undeniable, I have to express my concerns. His past… affiliations and actions make him a controversial figure. Are you certain this is the image you want associated with your administration?”

You straightened in your chair, your expression hardening. “Director, I appreciate your concerns, but Dean Winchester was vetted thoroughly before I made my decision. His record speaks for itself—he’s one of the most skilled operatives we’ve ever had.”

“His record also includes a stint in ADX Florence,” Landry countered, his tone measured but pointed.

You didn’t flinch. “I’m aware. And I also know he served his time and cooperated fully with authorities during his incarceration. Dean Winchester has earned his second chance, and I’m not in the business of denying people opportunities based on their past mistakes—especially when they’ve proven themselves more than capable.”

Landry’s gaze narrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You leaned forward, your voice steady and resolute. “Dean has already demonstrated his loyalty, his discretion, and his ability to protect me in ways no one else could. He’s not just a bodyguard, Director—he’s a deterrent. Anyone who knows his reputation would think twice before making a move.”

The director regarded you for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well. If you’re confident in your decision, I’ll respect it.”

“I am,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

As the meeting concluded and Landry left, you let out a long breath, sinking back into your chair. The tension from the conversation—and the residual heat from your earlier daydream—left you feeling drained and slightly disoriented.

You turned your chair toward the window, letting the fading sunlight warm your face as you tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could almost hear Dean’s gravelly voice teasing you: You’ve been working too hard.

Dean stood outside the East Wing of the White House, bathed in the faint golden light of the late afternoon. It was one of those rare moments when the world around him seemed to pause, granting him a sliver of peace amidst the relentless schedule of his new life. The crisp November air carried a sharp bite, and Dean savored the sensation as he leaned against a marble column, his hand loosely wrapped around his ever-present phone.

The quiet was interrupted by the buzz of an incoming call. The number wasn’t saved, but Dean knew it immediately—he recognized the area code, the unmistakable pang of familiarity twisting in his chest like a rusty knife.

For a moment, he considered letting it ring out. But he knew better than to ignore a call from them.

Dean swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Winchester,” a deep, gravelly voice snarled on the other end of the line. The accent was unmistakable—Brooklyn through and through. “You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve.”

Dean let out a slow exhale, his gaze flicking to the horizon as he stepped further into the shadows of the colonnade. His voice was calm, measured. “What do you want, Frank?”

“What do I want?” Frank barked a harsh laugh. “How about an explanation, for starters? You think we wouldn’t see it? You strutting around on TV in a monkey suit, playing babysitter for the goddamn President of the United States?”

Dean didn’t flinch, though the venom in Frank’s tone was enough to make most men’s blood run cold. “I don’t work for you anymore,” he said simply, his voice low but firm. “I haven’t for a long time.”

“Bullshit!” Frank snapped. “You don’t just leave, Winchester. You don’t walk away from the family and decide to play hero. That ain’t how this works, and you know it.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. The word “family” left a sour taste in his mouth—it was always their go-to excuse, a leash they used to drag their people back into the fold.

“I didn’t walk away,” Dean replied, his tone sharper now. “I was locked up, remember? ADX Florence. Solitary confinement. Twenty-three hours a day in a cell the size of a broom closet. You didn’t exactly come running to my rescue.”

“You think that gives you a free pass to spit on everything we built? On everyone who had your back?” Frank growled, his voice crackling with fury. “You don’t get it, do you? You didn’t just screw us, Winchester. You screwed the whole damn network. You’re a traitor.”

Dean’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice steady. “I’m not a traitor. I’m just done. Done with the jobs, the lies, the blood on my hands. I’ve paid my dues, Frank. I’m not going back.”

“Not going back?” Frank repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. “You think you can just slap on a suit, play by their rules, and call it a clean slate? Newsflash, buddy: your past doesn’t just disappear because you want it to. The network doesn’t forget.”

The network. The tangled web of organized crime that had once defined Dean’s life. It was a world of favors and debts, alliances and betrayals, a world where loyalty was currency and betrayal was punishable by death. Dean had clawed his way out of that pit, but its shadows still clung to him, no matter how far he tried to run.

“I didn’t ask for a clean slate,” Dean said, his voice laced with quiet defiance. “I know who I am, and I know what I’ve done. But I’m not your guy anymore, Frank. I don’t take orders from you, and I sure as hell don’t owe you a damn thing.”

Frank was silent for a moment, but the static of his labored breathing was still audible. When he finally spoke, his voice was colder than ever. “You think you’re untouchable now, huh? That shiny badge of yours makes you bulletproof?”

Dean’s lips twitched into a grim smile. “I think you know better than to try me.”

There was another long pause, the weight of unspoken threats hanging heavy in the air.

“You’ve made your choice, Winchester,” Frank said finally, his voice low and dangerous. “But don’t think for a second that we’re just gonna let this slide. You’re walking a fine line, and sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.”

The call ended abruptly, the click of the disconnect echoing in Dean’s ear. He stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand as the tension coiled in his chest like a spring wound too tight.

The air around him felt colder now, the shadows deeper. Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, the Washington Monument rising like a silent sentinel against the darkening sky.

The ghosts of his past were never far behind, and tonight, they’d made it clear they weren’t going anywhere.

Back inside, the warm lights of the White House felt almost alien after the cold, harsh conversation. Dean made his way to the security wing, nodding to a few Secret Service agents as he passed. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of Frank’s words pressing down on him.

You don’t just leave.

Dean knew that all too well. He’d spent years trying to carve out a life for himself that wasn’t defined by the blood and chaos of the criminal underworld. But no matter how far he ran, it always found a way to pull him back in.

As he reached his quarters, Dean leaned against the doorframe, letting out a long breath. His eyes drifted to the small desk in the corner, where a few case files and a polished Glock rested side by side.

He knew he had made the right choice—choosing a path that, while complicated, gave him a chance to do something good. To protect someone who genuinely wanted to make a difference.

But as he sat down, his mind lingered on Frank’s final words.

Sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.

Dean clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with resolve.

Not if he could help it.

Frank slammed the phone onto the mahogany desk in front of him, the sharp crack echoing through the dimly lit room. The ornate office—more of a lair, really—was as ostentatious as it was oppressive, with heavy red drapes and polished wood paneling that seemed to suck the life out of the air. A crystal tumbler of bourbon sat untouched on the desk, catching the faint golden glow of the single overhead light.

His face was twisted with anger, the veins in his neck bulging as he clenched his fists and let out a string of curses.

“That ungrateful son of a bitch!” he barked, his voice reverberating through the room. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Across from him, Lou, his most trusted advisor, stood with his hands clasped in front of him, his expression carefully neutral. Lou had been with Frank for over two decades, a steady presence in the volatile storm that was the New York mafia. He knew better than to interrupt when Frank was in one of his moods.

“He’s got a death wish, that’s what,” Frank continued, pacing behind his desk now, his expensive Italian shoes thudding against the Persian rug. “Thinks he can just walk away, like the past doesn’t mean jack. Like we don’t mean jack.”

Lou cleared his throat delicately. “He’s always been a loose cannon, Frank. You knew that when you brought him in.”

Frank whirled on him, his face contorted with fury. “Yeah, well, I also knew he was the best. The best hitter I ever had. He cleaned up messes nobody else could, and he did it without batting an eye. I gave him everything, Lou. Everything! And this is how he repays me?”

Lou didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to diffuse some of Frank’s rage. Then he asked, carefully, “What’s the move, boss?”

Frank ran a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling sharply as he tried to collect himself. He reached for the bourbon, downing it in one gulp before slamming the glass back onto the desk.

“The move?” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “The move is reminding every last one of them what happens when you cross me.”

Lou raised an eyebrow. “You want us to go after him?”

Frank let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No, no. That’s too small. Dean Winchester’s a nobody without that badge he’s wearing now. No, Lou—this is bigger than him.”

Lou tilted his head slightly, waiting for Frank to elaborate.

Frank leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk as he stared at his advisor with cold, calculating eyes. “You saw the news, didn’t you? The pictures? Him standing there, all smug, right next to her.”

“The President,” Lou said, his tone careful.

Frank nodded. “The goddamn President of the United States. He’s not just working for her—he’s protecting her. Like she’s some kind of queen, and he’s her loyal knight.”

Lou remained silent, his brow furrowing slightly as he began to piece together Frank’s train of thought.

Frank straightened up, pacing again as his mind raced. “You know what that makes us look like? Weak. Powerless. Like we let one of our own turn his back on us and walk away without so much as a scratch. It’s a slap in the face, Lou. A slap in the face to the entire goddamn network.”

Lou shifted his weight slightly. “So… what are you suggesting?”

Frank stopped pacing, turning to face him with a grim smile. “We send a message. Not just to him, but to everyone. To the entire world.”

Lou’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about—”

“I’m talking about taking her out,” Frank interrupted, his voice low but resolute. “The President. You want to send a message, Lou? There’s no message bigger than that. You kill the President of the United States, and suddenly, everybody remembers who the hell we are. They remember who I am.”

Lou’s expression remained unreadable, but the tension in the room thickened. “That’s… a bold move, Frank. High risk. High profile.”

“Yeah, and high reward,” Frank shot back. “Think about it. This isn’t just about revenge, Lou. This is about power. Control. We pull this off, and we’re untouchable. Nobody messes with us, not the feds, not the other families, not even that bastard Winchester.”

Lou hesitated, clearly weighing the implications of such a move. “It’s not gonna be easy. Security around her is tighter than anything we’ve ever dealt with. And Winchester’s no slouch. He’ll see us coming a mile away.”

Frank smirked, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Then we don’t let him see us coming. We hit her when she’s vulnerable, when nobody’s expecting it. And as for Winchester… well, let’s just say I’d love to see his face when he realizes he couldn’t protect her.”

Lou nodded slowly, though his expression remained guarded. “All right. I’ll put the word out, see who’s available for a job like this.”

Frank’s smile widened, but it was a smile devoid of warmth. “Good. And Lou?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Make sure it’s someone we can trust. Someone who understands what’s at stake. This isn’t just another hit—this is history.”

Lou inclined his head, then turned and left the room, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts.

Frank sank into his chair, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips as he poured himself another glass of bourbon. He swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, his mind already racing with plans and contingencies.

Dean Winchester thought he could walk away from the life. Thought he could play the hero, stand in the light, and leave the darkness behind. But Frank knew better. The darkness had a way of finding you, no matter where you ran.

And soon, Dean would learn that lesson the hard way.

The alley was dark, a maze of cobblestones and shadows that swallowed up the last traces of daylight. The smell of stale garbage and rain-soaked concrete hung in the air, thick and oppressive. It was the kind of place where deals were made in whispers, where the murky dealings of the underworld could be carried out without the watchful eyes of the world’s authorities.

Lou stood at the entrance to the alley, the tip of his polished shoes barely touching the edge of the grime-covered street. He had a hand in his coat pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around a wad of cash, his eyes scanning the alley with practiced indifference. He wasn’t here to make friends. He wasn’t even here to talk, not really.

He was here to ensure the job was done—no questions asked, no mistakes. Frank had given the order, and Lou was the one who would make sure it was carried out to the letter.

The shadows at the far end of the alley shifted, and Lou stiffened. The figure emerging from the darkness was tall, a silhouette whose face remained hidden in the dimness, a hood pulled up over their head to shield their identity. They moved with deliberate grace, footsteps silent against the damp ground, their presence unsettling, as if the shadows themselves had brought them to life.

Lou didn’t flinch. He had met people like this before. People who operated in the dark, who carried out their work with ruthless efficiency. People who didn’t need to be seen to make an impact.

“You got the money?” the figure rasped, their voice low and gravelly, as though it had been worn down by years of disuse.

Lou pulled the cash from his pocket, holding it up to the faint light spilling out from the windows above. He glanced at it for a moment before slipping it into a plain envelope. It was a sizable sum—enough to make even the most hardened hitman pause, but that wasn’t why Lou was here. Money was always the easy part. It was the message that had to be delivered, and that was worth more than any amount of cash.

“Everything you need is in there,” Lou said, his tone calm and measured. “But it’s not just about the money. It’s about making a statement. A clean job. No mess. It has to be perfect.”

The figure stepped closer, now within arm's reach. Their silhouette was more defined now, the curve of their shoulders broad under the dark fabric of their coat, but still, their face remained hidden.

“A statement?” The figure's voice was skeptical, but there was something in the way they asked the question that suggested they had heard it all before.

Lou didn’t hesitate. “The President. You’re going to take her out. Make it clean, make it quick. No mistakes. And when it’s done, it needs to be clear—this wasn’t just some random attack. It’s a message. A message to everyone who thought they could turn their backs on us. He turned his back on us, and now we pay him back.”

The figure’s face remained in shadow, but Lou could see the faint movement of their head as if they were considering the weight of the job.

“You’re talking about her, the new President?” the figure finally asked, the tone slightly amused. “I thought she was untouchable.”

“She’s not. No one is.” Lou’s voice hardened. “You do this, and everyone will know. You send a message to every fucking player in this game—no one walks away clean.”

There was a brief pause, then the figure took a step forward, the shadows lifting slightly as they approached. Lou’s eyes narrowed, scanning them closely. There was something familiar about their movements, the way they carried themselves. The way they moved like they owned the dark.

Lou took a step back, the envelope still clenched in his hand. “You understand what I’m asking?”

The figure nodded slowly, then pushed back the hood.

Lou’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as the face emerged from the shadows.

It was him.

The man standing in front of him wasn’t just a hitman. It was Benny Lafitte, one of the most notorious operatives to ever work for VIPER. The same man who had helped Frank build his empire, the same man who had been second only to Dean Winchester in terms of skill and ruthlessness. Benny was a ghost, someone who had disappeared from the underworld years ago after a particularly bloody job, but now he was back. And he was standing in front of Lou, as calm and unbothered as ever.

“Benny,” Lou said, his voice betraying a mixture of surprise and respect. “I didn’t expect you to be the one on this job.”

Benny’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “You didn’t think I’d hear about Dean’s little betrayal? Of course I’m involved. You think I’ve been sitting around twiddling my thumbs for the last few years?”

Lou was still processing the fact that Benny Lafitte—the ghost of the criminal underworld—was standing before him, ready to take on one of the most dangerous assignments Frank had ever given. Benny had a reputation for being precise, deadly, and entirely unpredictable.

“You always did like to be the best,” Lou muttered, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Benny was back.

Benny chuckled lowly, the sound dark and almost amused. “The best doesn’t retire, Lou. The best waits for the right time to come back. And it looks like the right time is now.”

Lou handed him the envelope. “The target’s the President. Make it look like a clean, political hit. We need the world to see it as a message. It’s not just about her—it’s about what Dean’s done. This is for him. For betraying the family.”

Benny took the envelope from Lou with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing against Lou’s briefly. Then he turned it over in his hands, examining it as if it were a piece of fine art rather than a job request.

“I’m clear on the details, Lou,” Benny said, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “But just so we’re clear… this is his punishment, not hers, right?”

Lou’s eyes darkened, his gaze cold. “This is for Dean. The President? She’s just in the way.”

Benny gave a nod, his eyes glinting with something darker now. “Then we’ll get this done. Clean. Quick. And unforgettable.”

Lou turned to leave, already hearing the faint sound of Benny’s footsteps receding into the shadows behind him.

One thing was for sure: If anyone could send a message like Frank wanted, it was Benny Lafitte. And once it was done, the underworld would know—no one walked away from VIPER. Not even Dean Winchester.

Benny stood still in the alley for a moment after Lou had walked away, his hand still wrapped tightly around the envelope. His eyes flickered up to the narrow slice of moonlight overhead, a reminder of just how far he’d fallen—and how far he was willing to go to make sure Dean Winchester didn’t come out on top.

The plan was simple: in and out, make the shot, leave no trace. Frank had asked for precision, but Benny had other ideas.

Why make it clean, when you could make it memorable?

After all, what was the point of sending a message if no one remembered it?

And so, as the chill of the night air wrapped itself around him, Benny’s mind began to race, already plotting the President’s downfall in the most spectacular way possible. He had no love for Dean, and he had no love for the President either. They were simply obstacles in a game much larger than any of them could comprehend.

And Benny Lafitte? Well, Benny was the one who would tip the scales.

This was going to be a hell of a show.

As Benny disappeared back into the shadows, Lou stepped into his car, the weight of the job heavy on his mind. Frank had given the order, and Benny would follow through. The message would be loud and clear.

The underworld would never forget what had happened tonight.

And neither would Dean.

NEXT UP:

Bella leaned in with a sly grin, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “We’ve been friends for how long now, huh? You’re telling us nothing happened last night? Nothing?”

You swallowed again, resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably in your seat. “What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Steph didn’t let you off the hook. She put her coffee down and stared at you seriously, her eyes narrowing. “Come on, you were talking about him last night, and now you can’t even focus? You’ve been staring at that plate like it’s your first meal in months.”

Your heart pounded as the realization hit you—they knew. They were onto you.

You let out a shaky breath. You could feel your pulse racing, the thought of admitting what had happened last night making your stomach flip uncomfortably. “It’s just…” You trailed off, trying to find the words, your fingers nervously tapping the edge of your glass.

Bella’s smirk only widened. “Come on, tell us. What’s the deal with you and your very handsome bodyguard?”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected them to be so direct, and yet it was exactly what you needed. You let out a long breath, looking down at the table to avoid their eyes.

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[lagomorphique]

Mouthwashing and Capitalism - Analysis

this did unexpectedly well on twt so I'm gonna force people on tumblr to endure my takes as well for posterity (plus i can speculate and elaborate a bit more on here without the character limit). disclaimer that this includes untagged spoilers for both the game itself + the how fish is made dlc. I also refer to some of the meta facts from the dev qnas and to the demo version of curly's psych evaluation. Most of this is gonna be under a readmore and I'll elaborate a bit more on each character in reblogs

firstly, let's state the obvious - the working conditions enforced by pony express are atrocious. "do not indulge in over 5 hours of rest, including leisure time. sleeping over the allowed budget will result in disciplinary action."

Compare this to irl guidelines for pilots. Neither Curly or Jimmy are getting anything close to the required amount of rest for such a demanding job. This edges more into headcanon/speculation territory, but I've been trying to figure out how their shift patterns are supposed to work. I'd imagine that both of them don't always need to be on duty at the same time, so their shift patterns are probably more variable than everybody's else's. At the same time, we see them both on shift at the same time multiple times during the game and Curly is the only one with clearance to make certain extremely important navigation decisions (like turning off the autopilot). The tldr is that the crew is extremely overworked and running on dangerously little sleep for extended periods of time. It's enough to make anyone go crazy.

Next, the company routinely engages in collective punishment, as seen in the below screenshots. This is particularly important because I think it directly informs a lot of Curly's decisions in particular, especially with how he reassures Anya that her stealing the gun case will not go on the performance log. Given her precarious financial situation, she literally cannot afford to have her pay docked. I don't think he has any nefarious intentions here about covering up what's happened.

I think it's really interesting that each of the employee ID cards have an EMV chip. This would imply that they also function as payment cards. Perhaps they also have to pay for the food on board. It is possible that the 'credits' they are paid in are not even money per se, but rather a sort of company currency. Company currencies, or 'scrips,' have historically been used to exploit workers by making them solely dependent on company stores and products, enforcing loyalty.

Corporate communicates with Curly using something that looks no more sophisticated than a fax machine. It it also not clear whether this communication channel even goes both ways, which calls into question whether it would have even been possible to send out a distress signal in the event of an emergency (or, for example, a HR report needing to be filed).

The ship is not equipped for 5 people. It's notable here that Curly says "bigger" here, implying he /did/ raise this as a safety issue with corporate, but was shot down.

It's a plot point that there were only 4 cryopods, which meant that one person would always have been left out in the event of an emergency, even if they were all functioning.

I also wonder if this affects the rations available to the crew during the trip. I highly doubt that Pony Express bothered to provide extra food and other essentials to provide for an extra person, which means that the crew are probably dividing rations meant for four people amongst five.

[neptuneiris]

could you pretend to be in love? (06/10)

The Connection

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (fake dating)

summary: an unexpected person from the past shows up and there is a family dinner to attend, resulting in disastrous thoughts and difficult decisions.

word count: 8.9k

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the chapter is finally here!

sorry it took me so long, if you didn't see my last post go do it and you'll know why👀 but we can put it behind us now and I'm excited to tell you that the next chapter will finally give us that next level we've been waiting for so long!

I really hope it won't take me that long but for now, let's enjoy this new chapter and as always, I'll be very anxious to read your comments🥰

enjoy!

The day of the dinner is slowly approaching.

And you still don't feel completely sure about it. However, despite your doubts and worries, you haven't backed out.

Mostly you think about what you're going to tell Aemond's mother by way of ruining things out of nervousness. Of course he should have already given her information about the relationship, but you're worried that she'll ask you questions and you won't know how to answer.

But that's not the reason she wants to get to know you… is it?

You think she probably just wants to know more about you, your likings, your non likings, your aspirations in life, your dreams, your family and things related to that.

Right?

You just hope so.

You've never done this before, meeting a guy's parents, ever. And you just get more nervous and feel more pressure knowing that Aegon and Helaena will be there too.

As well as you also feel guilty about the fact that they all think that you and Aemond are for real and you're just going to go there and convince them and assure them that you and Aemond are crazy about each other… when it's not true.

Now it's Thursday, tomorrow is dinner and Aemond doesn't seem at all concerned about it, when your thoughts are being completely tormented with it.

Still, you listen attentively to his words as you put away some books in your locker and he's standing next to you, leaning against the lockers, with the Romeo and Juliet book in his hands.

"Why did you make me read this shit? It's too hard to read and I don't like it," he says longingly.

You look away from your books to him and place a small amused smile on your lips at the sight of his face.

"It's like poetry and I don't like poetry, I don't understand it," he says frustrated, "I don't understand any of the weird rhyming they say."

"Well, Shakespeare has a unique way of expressing himself."

"Yeah, but what does he mean by 'My lips, two humble blazons, are ready to seal with a kiss softly'?" he recites reading the phrase with his brows furrowed and you let out a small laugh.

"Shakespeare loved beauty in words, even if it meant complicating things a bit."

"Yeah but why can't he just kiss her and be done with it without saying these weird words that give me cringe?"

"Come on," you give him an incredulous look, "It's romantic. The whole book is romantic with a tragic ending."

"This is definitely not romantic," he says incredulously and shaking his head, "It's weird, boring and makes me want to puke."

You look at him with a pout.

"You're not romantic at all."

"Excuse me?"

He immediately comes to defend himself, staring at you incredulously and completely indignant.

"I can be extremely romantic, thank you very much."

You raise your hands in a gesture of surrender, with a small smile as you see the spark of amusement in his gaze.

"You of all people should know that, you've witnessed it and you're the reason I do it mostly," he adds.

"But that's not… you know," you give him an expectant, knowing look.

"It's still romantic."

"No, it's not," you say with a laugh.

At your playful response, still busy at your locker, you don't notice and Aemond suddenly approaches. He takes your chin with one of his hands gently but firmly enough, causing you to look up at him, catching you off guard.

"What did you just say, my love?" he asks with a mischievous smile and amusement in his gaze, appearing serious and warning.

He brings his face closer to yours with a demanding gaze and your heart begins to pound as you let yourself be carried away by his proximity.

It is clear that he is going to kiss you, what does this mean if not kiss you? So you watch him expectantly and with your face lifted towards him, really looking forward to the sweet contact, your lips inches from his.

But first Aemond looks around briefly, wanting to make sure that some students in the hallway are watching you. When then, you see that he is overlooking a specific spot in the hallway.

You see how there is a slight glint in his eye and then he no longer moves.

You frown slightly, waiting. And before you can say or do anything, Aemond suddenly pulls away.

Confusion overtakes you and he clears his throat by averting his gaze, then smiles softly at you as if he wasn't about to kiss you seconds ago.

"Then I'll be more romantic next time," he says, taking his distance from you, as if trying to minimize the tense moment you've just shared.

Was he going to kiss you or not?

You can't just tell him to kiss you either, that he was going to, since this isn't real but… the change in his behavior confuses you, you don't quite understand what just happened and you don't know what to say.

"I have to go to the field now," he tells you, averting his gaze for a moment before looking at you again, "I'll see you in class, okay?"

"Hum… yeah, yeah, okay," you nod, still confused.

He gives you one last smile and before leaving, he gives your shoulder a light squeeze with his hand, another gesture that catches you off guard. Without a kiss on your forehead or cheek, as he usually does, he walks away.

You stand in the hallway, watching him go, with a mix of emotions you can't help but feel confused, uncertain and... disappointed.

Questions swirl around in your mind, but you don't have any answers. So shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you close your locker door and head to your next class.

Eventually you continue to run into him and he acts normal, as usual. He sits next to you in class, does the teacher's requested activities with you, and walks with you through the halls to the next class.

And everything is…normal, in a way.

Although he's still being kind and attentive, he's not being as affectionate as usual.

You can see how he's distracted, deep in thought from time to time, something is on his mind, something that you have no idea what it is but that keeps you alert, confused and makes you feel completely different from previous days.

You sense that the dynamic between you today has changed somehow, leaving you feeling bewildered.

And you don't know why.

Although it's not until break time that you find yourself sitting at a table alone, still feeling this awkwardness, when Alysanne comes in and drops the big bombshell on you that makes all the sense in the world.

"Why are you here eating so casually when I just saw your boyfriend catching up with his other ex-girlfriend?"

You raise your gaze to her almost instantly, with a mixture of surprise and confusion, a knot forming in your stomach as the weight of her words settle on your shoulders.

"What?"

"Yeah, Floris Baratheon," she says, then looks at you slightly confused, "How did you not know this?"

"What?" you repeat, not understanding.

"Floris Baratheon," she repeats to you slowly and clearly, "Dark hair, not as tall and certainly not as bitchy as Alys but still she falls into the category of girls who are superficial and think they are better than other girls," she explains to you.

Confusion lingers in your gaze, for despite the explanation, you still don't remember anything about a girl named Floris Baratheon at school.

"You really don't know who she is? Aemond didn't tell you about her?" asks Alysanne incredulously and your face answers her questions, "She transferred schools for a semester and just returned this morning. She and Aemond weren't actually dating but they had a thing when he and Alys broke up for like the twelfth time."

Your mind whirls as you process the information.

Honestly you had no idea about Floris' existence back in your invisibility days at school. Therefore, you also had no idea that she and Aemond had ever had any kind of relationship.

However… there is something you have an idea of at the moment.

This is why Aemond acted weird with you this morning, because of her. He must have seen her in the hallway and his demeanor changed completely.

"I-I didn't know that," you admit in a soft, low voice, trying to hide the uneasiness that is starting to creep up on you.

"Well, it's weird that Aemond didn't tell you anything, especially since I saw the two of them so comfortable and happy talking," she lets you know, "And I'm not telling you this with any malice or to make you feel bad, it's just that I think you should know, even though I thought you already knew."

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling a surge of emotions wash over you that you can't quite explain, nor can you avoid.

You're not sure what to think or how to react to this, but one thing is for sure; things between you and Aemond are likely to get complicated.

But what can you really do?

You and he aren't really dating. What's the point of asking him about it when it's really none of your business? Besides if he didn't talk to you about it before, when he saw her, it must be for this very reason.

You have no right here, even if you feel this.

"Do you want to get out of here?" asks you Alysanne later, noticing your face and probably everything that is invading your mind.

And soon enough, she takes you to the rooftop of the school, outdoors, where you just sit and watch the sky and listen to her while she smokes a cigarette, talking to you about Cregan being around her lately.

But as much as you want to give her your full attention and corroborate what she is telling you, you can't.

The rest of the classes are without Aemond, since you don't share them with him, and when the school day ends, still not knowing exactly whether to wait for him to drive you home or not, you head for the exit of the building, deep in thought.

"Hey."

You feel a hand grab your shoulder and when you turn your head without stopping moving forward, you find Aemond standing next to you.

"Hi," you reply softly, turning your gaze back to the front.

And he at your side gives you an attentive, curious and slightly confused look.

"Are you okay? I didn't see you at break," he says softly, "I also texted you and you didn't respond."

"Oh," your mind goes blank for a moment, "I was with Alysanne on the roof. She was talking to me about some things."

"Hmm," he nods, still watching you between a mixture of attentive and curious.

Then the two of you say nothing more, with the silence loud between the two of you and that tension emanating from your body, when you speak again.

"Are you going to drive me home today?" you decide to ask him, watching him, with that hesitation in your tone of voice and look.

And he frowns, watching you blankly.

"I always drive you."

You are about to speak but a third voice does it for you, stopping your steps and also Aemond's.

"Aem!"

The two turn their heads and there she is, Floris Baratheon.

Black hair, brown eyes, slender and absolutely beautiful features. She approaches with a smile, showing off her perfect, aligned teeth.

Everything about her screams money, as well as elegance, from her perfectly coiffed hair to her impeccable designer clothes and accessories.

And the moment she catches both your attention and Aemond's, you notice how he beside you tenses slightly.

"Hey," she gives him a charming smile and her full attention, placing herself in front of him, "The guys are going to get something to eat, I was just told. Do you want to join us? We can take off in your car and catch up some more."

"Hum…" he is silent for a moment, shooting you a nervous glance, scratching the back of his neck.

And throwing you another glance, this finally catches Floris' attention and she notices your presence as well.

"Oh… hi," she smiles softly at you.

Despite your nerves and how uncomfortable you're starting to feel, you force yourself to smile as kindly and genuinely as possible.

"Hi."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I know you," she tells you in an exaggeratedly kind tone of voice.

And this too finally gets Aemond to react.

"Yeah, right, that's my fault," he says trying to act nonchalant and completely relaxed, "Floris, this is Y/N, m-my girlfriend."

You watch as she parts her lips and her surprise is evident as she looks at Aemond and then turns her attention back to you.

"I-I didn't find the moment to tell you."

You instantly observe Aemond, with a look that even you can't explain and he suddenly can't control his nervous gestures anymore, giving a wary glance to you and then to Floris.

"Oh."

She turns her gaze back to you and though she tries to hide her surprise, the strength of her smile seems a bit forced as she holds out her hand to you.

"I'm Floris, nice to meet you."

And within everything you're feeling right now, like awkwardness and feeling out of place, you still shake your hand with hers.

"Nice to meet you."

Tension is in the air and Aemond looks hesitant for a moment. And you continue to feel like an intruder between them, getting in between the interaction of two people sharing a history you don't fully know about.

When Aemond speaks again.

"Floris is my…

He tries to tell you, but his words are left floating in the air.

Suddenly you see how he struggles and searches his mind for a way to introduce you to the girl he had a thing with in the past, only according to him, you don't know that, when certainly Alysanne already took care of it.

And just like you, you too feel Floris' anticipation, waiting for him to introduce her.

"An old friend," he finally says.

Floris arches an eyebrow slightly at Aemond's introduction, her lips curving into a smile that seems to contain more than just politeness.

"Yes, that," she punctuates, with a knowing look that to you does not go unnoticed, "Well, I just wanted to know if you were free for this afternoon. Although if you want you can bring your girlfriend with us," she proposes.

Aemond takes a moment to respond, averting his gaze as he scratches the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.

And that's when you decide to speak.

"You can go with them," you tell him and that immediately gets his attention and hers, "I can just take the bus or something and I'll see you later," you say to start walking away from both of them.

His attention and slight surprise is most visible on his face, but before you can move too far away, he grabs your hand and advances towards you.

"What? No" he immediately inquires, "No, I'll take you home."

The determination in his tone of voice and in his gaze makes you feel a little more comforted, but still, you can't shake this uneasiness in you about Floris' presence.

And that's when Aemond turns to her again without letting go of your hand.

"Sorry Floris, another time," he tells her in his firmer, slightly strained voice.

And she nods with a sympathetic look, though you can't help but sense there's something else behind her expression.

"Of course, I understand, it'll be for next time then," she says, before turning to you, "It was nice meeting you, Y/N."

And finally she is the first to walk away.

You exchange a look you can't quite describe with Aemond and feel the awkwardness and seriousness linger between the two of you, even as the two of you leave the building and make your way to his car.

And once in the passenger seat and with Aemond driving through the city streets, you find yourself fiddling with your fingers in your lap, still feeling the awkwardness in the air.

You don't understand exactly what's got you right now but you can't even see Aemond out of the corner of your eye, so you keep your gaze focused straight ahead and on the side where the window is.

"Are you okay?"

You suddenly hear his voice speak softly to you, feeling his gaze on you from time to time and you squirm a little in your seat before you speak, swallowing hard.

"Yeah, all good," you say, trying to sound convincing.

He exhales deeply, noticing your distance again.

"I'm sorry if the Floris thing made you uncomfortable. S-she…" he sighs, "She's truly a childhood friend. We had something in the past but it was very brief and it's no longer relevant."

And although there is nothing wrong with his words, you still can't help but feel a slight knot in your stomach. And you act completely unconcerned.

"I understand," you say simply, in a soft voice and still without looking at him.

But this is not convincing to Aemond, who licks his lips and can't help but worry about the situation.

"I mean it."

"Aemond," you call him softly, finally looking at him, "I understand, I really do," you assure him, "I also meant it when I said you should go eat with her and your friends. You seemed very uncomfortable and there was no problem from me."

He nods slowly, but still looks a little uneasy.

"I just didn't expect I was going to see her again."

And you don't know if that's worse.

"Are you ready?"

Oh God, are you?

"I don't know," you answer honestly, nervously, looking at your outfit.

For this occasion you chose a pair of pants, ankle boots and a white tank top with a black jacket over it. You don't look overdressed but decent for the occasion, along with your makeup and hairstyle.

"Hey, easy," he says softly, placing both hands on your shoulders, "It's going to be okay. Besides we won't be alone, Aegon and Hel will be with us."

"Yeah but that's not what I'm worried about," you clarify, playing with your fingers, "What if I ruin everything?" you ask watching him fearfully, "What if everyone realizes that we're not really dating because of me?"

"I'll take care of that, don't worry," he assures you, with his soft gaze, "You just have to corroborate everything I say and stick to the main story. Other than that, my mother will just ask you questions about you to get to know you better."

"Are you sure?" you ask, not entirely convinced.

"Very," he affirms you, conveying calmness and assurance in his voice.

"You've done this before?" you can't help but ask, still with some hesitation, "I mean…" you lick your lips, nervous, "You've brought a girl before to dinner with your family?"

He is silent for a moment, as if considering how to answer, as the implication is clear because that's not the real question, you know that too.

Rather it is: have you ever brought Alys to dinner with your family before?

"Yes," he finally admits in a murmur, sincerely, "Yes, I have."

You stare at him silently, without the two of you saying anything else, only to look away and nod, again trying to look unconcerned, trying to calm your nerves further.

"My mother never liked her," he says later, again attracting your attention, "You know, Alys."

Again, you say nothing for a few moments, just lick your lips and nod.

"I understand."

Aemond lets out a heavy breath and takes a step towards you, lowering one of his hands to take one of yours, gently rubbing his thumb against the back of yours, this also immediately catching your attention, as you see him looking at you for a moment thoughtfully.

"Are you ready now?" he asks you softly, raising his gaze to you, "We can stay here a while longer if you want."

"No," you reply immediately, "No, I don't want to make everyone wait for us," you release a long breath, calming your nerves, "I'm ready now."

He places a small comforting smile on his lips.

"You'll do fine, trust me," he assures you then moves closer to you and leaves a soft kiss on your forehead, just like at school.

His action definitely catches you off guard and you look at him slightly surprised, but Aemond doesn't give it that much importance, as if it was already a natural and routine thing between both of you, like a gesture of encouragement, to then take you by the hand together with him to the entrance of his house.

His house is nice and big, with a beautiful garden, so when you open the door, you see a huge and cozy living room with the dining room visible in the background, where you can make out Aegon's figure and his short silver hair.

Aemond closes the door behind you and you briefly look around, seeing the decorations of the elegant house, such as mirrors, flowers vases and also family photos.

Mostly, you see pictures of young children, which you recognize as Helaena, Aemond, Aegon and his other brother, Daeron.

There are also photos of what you assume is their mother and also a man, who you assume is the father, with Aemond and his siblings as children. But it strikes you that none of the four are smiling, just the mom a little.

There are more current pictures, only of Aemond, Helaena and Aegon smiling next to their mother, with no trace of their father and Daeron.

"He's my younger brother," he takes a single photo of a boy, standing next to you and handing it to you, "Daeron."

And just as you imagined, he's a boy of about fifteen with striking blue eyes and short silver hair, smiling at the camera with a bright face and looking in the background like he's standing in a lake at Honeyholt.

"Helaena was right," you say with a small smile, still inspecting the photo, "He really is the handsomest of the three of you."

"That's not true," he tells you immediately, taking the photo out of your hands and putting it back in its place with a quick, automatic gesture, making you laugh.

"What's up, bro?"

You both hear Aegon's voice and turn around, with the silver-haired man already walking towards you with a bottle of beer in his hand and a huge grin on his face.

"Are you drinking already?" Aemond inquires, "Mom's going to kill you."

"Oh, you know how persuasive I can be," he tells him without wiping off his smile, "Besides, I've already set the table," he points to the dining room, "It's dinner, bro."

"Careful," he warns you but he deliberately ignores him, heading in your direction.

"Y/N!" he exclaims your name smiling, coming over to embrace you, "Welcome to our home."

"Hi Aegon," you smile back at him.

He envelops you in a hug and you reciprocate cordially, instantly the strong smell of beer reaching your nostrils.

"Want one?" he points to the beer in his hand as he pulls away from you.

"I don't think so," Aemond answers him, again intertwining his hand with yours, "Where's mom?"

"In the kitchen with Hel" he points out, "Tell them to hurry, I'm starving," he says in a tone of voice that catches your attention.

But Aemond pulls you forward, starting to leave him behind, with a serious and disapproving look at his brother's attitude.

"It's the beer," he explains to you quietly, "I hate it when he drinks at home. I just hope it doesn't get unbearable later."

"Why?" you ask him, curious.

He shakes his head.

"Aegon is… complicated."

He doesn't say anything else and neither do you, mostly because he leads you toward the kitchen, but curiosity still lingers on that subject.

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze in a supportive gesture that comforts you as you both cross the threshold into the kitchen, where instantly the smell of delicious freshly baked food hits your nostrils.

And the first thing you notice is a silver hair along with a darker one, who you assume must be Aemond's mother.

And immediately your nerves again explode and you feel your heart pounding hard in your chest.

"Hey, Y/N!"

A friendly voice says to you, being Helaena, who is wiping her hands with a clean dish towel and wearing a beautiful blue dress, instantly heading towards you with open arms.

"Hi Hel," you smile back happily, hugging her enthusiastically.

"Oh I'm so happy you're in our home," she says excitedly and warmly without letting go of you, "We've prepared turkey, I hope you like it," she says as she pulls away from you.

"Oh I'm sure it will," you nod at her with a sincere smile, feeling welcomed by the warmth of her welcome.

"Mom."

Aemond's voice momentarily pulls you out of your conversation with Helaena and you turn your head to meet the gaze of Alicent, Aemond's mother.

Instantly you try to control your nerves and keep your composure, remembering his comforting words.

And when Alicent's gaze meets yours, a warm smile forms on his lips, which makes you feel less nervous and conveys a sense of calm. Although the nervousness lingers, you feel a little more secure with his kindness.

Aemond places a comforting hand on your shoulder and steps forward to introduce you.

"This is my girlfriend, Y/N," he points to you with his small smile, "And Y/N, this is my mom, Alicent."

She is a very beautiful woman.

It's the first thing that comes to your mind, noting the dimples in her cheeks and that warm look she has, not being intimidating at all and being rather kind.

Besides the dark green dress she wears is completely beautiful, as well as her accessories. Everything about her radiates elegance and poise.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, my dear," she says, turning to you, "Gosh, I was so excited to meet you. It's so nice of you to come."

And without expecting it, just like Helaena, she too greets you with a hug, taking you completely off guard, causing you to let out a nervous little laugh as you hug her back.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Hightower," you say softly, feeling slightly overwhelmed by her kindness and warmth.

"Please call me Alicent," she says as she pulls away from you.

Before all this you asked Aemond what to call her, just for the heck of it and to feel less nervous and he told you 'Hightower', the last name of her father.

So you assume that Aemond's father is not someone who gets mentioned much around here. In the family photos he is present in only one picture. And Aemond doesn't talk about him either.

And he watches with a small smile at the interaction between you and his mother, feeling relieved that things are going well so far.

"Please go and take your seats. Dinner will be served soon," she says to Aemond and you.

"Do you need help?" he asks her.

"I'm already doing it myself," Hel says, "Don't worry, little brother."

"Can you help me with your brother, please," Alicent tells him, with a look of slight concern.

"Of course," he assures her in a gentle tone.

Soon the two of you return to the dining room, the two of you take a seat together with Aegon and Aemond tries to tell him not to overdo it with his drinks, that you are here to enjoy a nice dinner with his family.

But he just makes nonchalant gestures and tells him that everything is fine, to continue drinking, looking at the screen of his phone, waiting for dinner.

Then you don't know how much time passes exactly but Alicent returns very soon along with Helaena with the food, placing the dishes in the center of the table, indicating that all this will start soon.

Aemond places his hand on top of yours underneath the table, giving you every supportive gesture possible, reassuring you at every turn that he can that all will be fine.

Every brush of his fingers against yours conveys reassurance and comfort.

You feel a slight relief as you feel his touch, reminding you that you are not alone at this moment and his presence gives you strength to face any nervousness that may arise during dinner.

And with the food finally served, the silverware begins to clink against the plate glass as everyone begins to enjoy the delicious dinner.

Aemond, like the supposed boyfriend in love with you, is totally attentive to you, asking if you're served this or that, wanting to make sure you're well received and comfortable to make this more bearable.

And you thank him all the way, feeling his mother's gaze on both of you from time to time, without wiping away her warm smile.

"Did you like the food, dears?" she asks generally.

"Oh yes," Helaena says with a look of total complicity, delighting in the food.

"It's delicious, Mom," Aemond tells her later.

"Totally," you corraborate politely, nodding in her direction.

Alicent smiles in satisfaction and then turns her attention to Aegon, who hasn't said anything since everyone started eating.

"How about you, son?" she asks him softly.

"It's fine," he says curtly, taking a huge swig from his bottle of beer.

This definitely gets your attention but Alicent as well as Aemond and Helaena decide not to give it enough attention, as if they're already used to it and don't want to ruin the moment by his behavior.

But you do notice the disapproval in each of their looks, especially the disappointment in Alicent. Though she almost instantly turns her attention away from Aegon to Aemond and you.

"So, how long have you two been dating exactly?" she asks curiously and without losing the kindness in her gaze and tone.

"A month," Aemond replies without hesitation at your side, resting one of his arms on the back of your chair.

And Alicent shakes his head with a small smile on his lips.

"And I still can't believe he kept you hidden from me, Y/N."

You smile in his direction, trying not to let your nerves give you away, as Aemond again interjects, with a soft look.

"We didn't want to rush things."

"I told him not to take too long to tell you," Helaena says as well, pointing at Aemond as she watches her mother.

"But he didn't tell me anything, Aegon did," Alicent says in amusement.

"Oh come on, I was going to tell you anyway," Aemond tries to justify himself.

"Oh you were going to?" Hel questions him.

"You want to turn her against me."

"I'm just telling the truth, little brother."

This causes Alicent to laugh softly and his gaze meets yours, where you laugh softly too, as the fight between Aemond and Hel continues. But this causes you to begin to feel comfortable and more at ease with the whole situation.

The only thing at the table that is completely serious is Aegon, who continues to concentrate on his drink and the food in front of him.

His reserved attitude contrasts with the energy you have with Aemond, his mother and sister, but they don't really give him much attention and everyone continues to enjoy the delicious food and create topics of conversation.

"So…" Alicent begins to speak, watching you with her warm gaze, "What are your college plans, sweetie?"

Oh my God.

Okay, it's happening.

You think as you slowly start to panic, but quickly get yourself under control, settling back in your seat.

"You're all graduating soon," she points to her kids with a small smile.

And you're about to speak but someone else does first.

"Which wouldn't be the case if Aegon hadn't repeated year… twice," Hel says condescendingly, pouring herself more food in a casual gesture.

"Helaena," Alicent reprimands her in a soft tone.

"Don't start with me."

Aegon's voice finally makes itself heard in a long time, speaking in a cold, curt tone, not even observing his sister, focused on his food.

"Just saying," Helaena says also with a pout in his direction.

"Then speak for yourself. You're a year behind too."

"Ugh," she sighs, "You talk like you don't know what happened."

"That's enough," Alicent says calmly, watching you both with a look of silent warning.

The atmosphere tenses slightly and all is silent for a moment, as you notice how Aemond next to you only runs a hand over his chin and you only hear the clink of silverware clattering against glass plates.

Alicent then turns his gaze to you and there you decide to speak, hoping to restore comfort to the atmosphere.

"Well, actually, I've applied to Oldtown University," you say with a soft smile, controlling your nerves, "I'm planning on getting into law school."

Surprise flashes across Alicent's face, as you briefly feel Aemond watching you beside you.

"Oh, wow," she nods slowly, her expression one of amazement, "What a coincidence, that's the same college Aemond wants to go to."

Aemond nods with a small smile, completely keeping up appearances.

"Yes," he confirms, "In fact it's perfect for us to go to the same place after graduation."

And just to show more affection with you, he places his hand and yours intertwined on top of the table, watching you with that 'love' he seeks to convey in these moments in front of his mother.

And Alicent watches you both with her soft smile, but is still intrigued by you.

"And why that choice? Law is something you always wanted to study?" she asks you, with genuine interest in her voice.

You try not to focus too much on the way Aemond's thumb begins to gently caress the skin on the back of your hand, which at the same time also reassures you.

And you nod in Alicent's direction.

"Yes, it's something I've always been interested in. It's a very heavy degree with very dense material, but it's very interesting and it's long been what I've decided for myself."

Alicent nods in your direction, listening to you intently and looking completely interested.

"And I guess at Oldtown it's a great opportunity to want to study law."

"Oh yes," you say eagerly, "Oldtown has one of the best faculties with very capable professors and all the material you need. It's certainly a great opportunity."

"But I also think that getting to study at such an in-demand university with few places in that major can be difficult," she tells you corroborating in conversation.

"Yeah, that's the bad thing, but…" you shrug, "I'm hopeful."

You watch subtly beside you, focusing for a moment on Aemond, speaking with that complicit tone, as of course he doesn't forget that the reason you're here doing this is precisely because of Oldtown.

He knows that all too well too.

"And your parents are supportive of your decision to study law?"

Slight surprise passes across your face, definitely not expecting that question, but you quickly manage to soften your face, though you still remain silent for a moment.

You try to hide any trace of bewilderment as you search for a suitable answer. And it is Alicent's same warm gaze that encourages you to respond.

"Uh… yes, my father is just as excited as I am about this possible opportunity," you reply with a small smile, being honest, "He has always supported me in all my decisions."

You respond without saying anything else and with sincerity, not mentioning anything about your mother.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," he nods at you and smiles warmly, "And what about your mother, dear?" she asks with genuine curiosity.

Inevitably your whole body tenses at that moment. And an uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you think again about how to respond.

You honestly didn't expect the conversation to get to this point, about how even after talking only about your father, you're still being asked about your mother.

And for a moment, you don't know what to say or what to do, but you finally decide to react after everything falls into an awkward silence and they begin to look at you slightly confused by your lack of response.

Until you decide to be honest.

"Well, I-I…" you bite your lips, "I don't actually live with her," you admit in a soft voice, avoiding eye contact for a moment, "And I haven't seen her since I was six."

Slight concern crosses Alicent's face, instantly watching you in regret.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetie," she says sincerely, embarrassed to have caused you discomfort, "I had no idea. I apologize."

You're about to tell her it's okay, that it's no problem because she didn't know, that it's no big deal, but you don't even get a chance to speak when sudden laughter is heard throughout the dining room.

The tension in the air dissipates in that instant as everyone turns to the source of the laughter, Aegon.

He is visibly drunk, but still conscious enough to know what is going on around him and that is what is alarming.

Alicent, Helaena and Aegon's faces fill with bewilderment and disapproval, except for yours, as you watch Aegon in confusion, not quite understanding what is going on.

"Aegon," Alicent calls to him now truly annoyed, watching him seriously and reproachfully.

But Aegon barely manages to contain his laughter as he apologizes between laughs.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it," he mutters, his tone full of amusement and insolence.

Then Aemond at your side watches him completely serious, his jaw clenched and his gaze dark, holding back his fury at his reaction after you shared a very intimate and sensitive piece of information to you.

And Aegon laughs at it because of his own stupidity? Of course he's not going to allow that.

"What's so funny?" he inquires, expectant and about to explode.

Aegon straightens in his chair, a smirk on his face.

"Oh, nothing," he replies mockingly, "I just think she and you are perfect for each other. Apparently, we're not the only ones who have parental issues, are we?"

He asks watching his mother and sister, which makes Alicent feel even more tense, watching you worried and apologetic about the little show her eldest son is putting on.

"That's enough," she reprimands him firmly.

But Aegon seems determined to move on and turns to you again with a gesture of camaraderie, ignoring his mother's words and his brother's attitude.

"Don't worry, Y/N," he tells you with a crooked smile, "You can talk about it here and no one will judge you. All of us would understand, wouldn't we? We who wouldn't know about the subject of fucking neglectful parents with their kids."

Aemond's gaze becomes even more intense and his jaw tighter, watching his brother as if he could throw daggers at him with his eye.

"Shut the fuck up," he orders him, controlling himself as much as he can at that moment.

"Aemond," Alicent calls out to him worriedly.

"Or what?" Aegon challenges him, "She better know what she's getting herself into once and for all. With our fucking family traumatized by her own father who never cared about us."

"I said shut the fuck up," Aemond demands of him rising from his chair, causing everyone at the table to become alarmed.

Alicent rises at about the same time he does, and Helaena rises next, alert and worried, while you and Aegon continue to sit, he still unconcerned and you… because you don't even know how to feel about it.

The tension is too much, this is all unexpected and it's all happening too fast. And as if things couldn't get any worse, Aegon continues to talk and drink more.

"I'm just saying you two are the perfect match," he continues, his tone increasingly amused, "She doesn't have a mom and you don't have a dad, bro. Awesome, isn't it?"

Then it all happens too fast.

Aemond advances towards Aegon with a furious determination on his face that puts everyone at the table on alert, reaches towards him and grabs him hard by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to get up.

"Aemond!"

Alicent and Helaena immediately intervene, rushing towards them to stop them, but Aegon doesn't even have time to react before he finds himself on his feet, with Aemond holding him tightly.

"Stop it, Aemond!" exclaims Alicent, his tone full of authority and concern.

You finally rise from your seat as well, alert and worried, not knowing exactly what to do or what to say, feeling your pulse racing.

Then Aegon reacts as well, his face transforming into one of rage, placing his hands on top of his brother's.

"Get your fucking hands off me," he manages to say with difficulty.

"I told you to shut the fuck up or didn't I?"

"Oh and now you're going to hit me? Huh?" he asks, punching him in the chest with his hands, "You're going to hit me? And for what? For telling the truth?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you huh!? You fucking cunt," Aemond hits him back in the chest.

"Let go of me, you fucking asshole!"

"That's enough!" Alicent intervenes again, her voice firm and full of authority, "Aemond, let go right now!" she orders, furious, implying that she won't repeat it a fourth time.

The tension in the room seems to increase with each passing moment, as you hold your breath, watching Aemond worriedly, as does Helaena.

Aemond hesitates for a moment, glaring at his brother with determination, until he finally releases him with a tug, pulling away from him still watching him in warning and utter annoyance.

Aegon straightens, rubbing his neck as he glares at his brother resentfully.

"I don't need this shit. Enjoy your fucking dinner," he says grumpily, grabbing his bottle of beer and heading for the stairs, not giving anyone a glance.

At least your pulse starts to calm down when you see how it's finally all over, but you still watch Aemond worriedly.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Alicent turns to you sorrowfully, averting your gaze to her, "What a shame."

"No, no, don't worry…

You start to say in a soft tone when Aemond's serious but definitely kinder voice makes itself heard in your direction.

"I'll wait outside."

The three of you watch him silently and watch as with nonchalant gestures he takes his car keys from his front pocket and with his face still contained in fury, heads out of the house.

With a lump in your throat, you turn to Alicent and Helaena, feeling the weight of tension still hanging in the air even so.

"Thank you so much for dinner. It was nice to meet you," you say to Alicent, trying to sound as calm, gentle and kind as possible.

Alicent smiles sadly back at you, still with her saddened and troubled face.

"It was lovely to meet you and have you come, honey," she tells you sincerely, "Still I'm so sorry. It wasn't my plan for dinner to end like this."

"I totally understand, don't worry," you say with a small smile, "We can always do it again."

You say and immediately regret it, but manage to soften your face in time.

This was supposed to be the only time you would do this, but you feel you owe it to her, to Alicent, as she prepared a delicious dinner with great care. She seemed so excited and happy about everything, especially about you coming that it is such a shame that this happened.

More than anything else that's why you say so.

"Of course," she nods to you, kindly and cordially.

You bid her goodbye with a gentle hug, then embrace Helaena as well, conveying your silent support through the simple gesture.

"If you need to talk, we can do it at school," she murmurs in your ear before releasing you.

"Sure," you promise, returning the hug gratefully.

You take one last look at both of them and head out of the house. And once outside, you feel a shiver run down your spine as you face the cool night air.

And there you see him, in the middle of the night silence and at the edge of the street, leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette with an almost absent gesture, looking thoughtful but also still a little upset about what happened.

You watch as he lets the smoke go between his parted lips and you, letting out a long breath, head towards him.

When he looks back at you, you too just watch him silently and he wordlessly opens the driver's door with a soft squeak and gets in the car, so you follow after him, feeling the weight of silence between you.

You too slide into the passenger seat and close the door, where soon the two of you find yourselves moving through the quiet streets of the city, the music on the radio playing at a low volume in the background.

And that's the only sound between you, the music, and even then it's a little uncomfortable.

You bite the inside of your cheek, struggling to find the right words as the tension lingers, but you don't even know what to say. What are you supposed to say when that happened?

But finally it's Aemond who breaks the silence.

"I hope you enjoyed the show," he murmurs, not taking his eye off the road.

You are momentarily speechless, not knowing what to say at that, not even finding the right words in your mind. Then you let out a low sigh, understanding how he must be feeling.

You mean… you went to meet his mother, it was a family dinner, everything was going well and to suddenly have it all end like that with very personal confessions that you had no idea about… it must be completely frustrating for him that you witnessed that.

"Are you okay?" you ask him in a low, soft tone, watching him intently, concerned and understanding.

He lets out a long breath, pursing his lips as he considers your answer, saying nothing for a moment. But when he finally does, he says it in a voice laden with weariness, regret and seriousness.

"I'm not even upset that Aegon said all that… he… he's right," he says resentfully, "I'm upset that you had to witness it."

The weight of his words falls on you, sensing Aemond's seriousness and frustration in his words. You watch his serious and weary face, the fury he is still holding back.

And for a moment, you look like you're not going to say anything, but after biting your lips, you finally speak.

"You don't have to worry about me," you tell him in a soft voice, "After all, he was right about what he said about my mother too," you add, seeking to offer some comfort, "I don't even remember her, you know? And honestly… it doesn't affect me nor do I care."

If your words caused anything in him, he doesn't show it, as he continues with his eye focused on the road.

But inside, he can't help but feel a little surprised and amazed at your ability to accept those circumstances with such calm and determination compared to him.

And finally he nods, understanding the truth of your words.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper.

You watch him with a soft and… slightly thoughtful gaze, feeling the tension between the two of you finally begin to fade, resulting in a warm and pleasant atmosphere for the two of you, as usual.

And unexpectedly for him, you take his free hand gently and intertwine your fingers with his, offering a small gesture of support amidst still the frustration he is feeling.

"I don't," you confess softly.

You don't say anything else and neither does he, hoping you can put this behind you. And all along the way, he keeps gently stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

You wait anxiously, moving your foot repeatedly up and down, glancing from time to time at your surroundings and also at the screen of your phone, wanting to keep the time very much in mind.

The gentle morning breeze caresses your face, with the sun painting golden hues in the morning sky and listening in the background to the birds singing, but also all the movement of the soccer team training early at this hour from the field.

Everything seems to be calm, except for your racing heartbeat, where you avoid biting your nails and simply bite your lips in a nervous gesture, as well as the inside of your cheek.

Then you finally see Aemond approaching with his backpack on his shoulder and his face soft.

"Hey," he says softly, taking a seat in front of you, taking off his backpack and watching you carefully, "What's up? Is everything okay?"

Out of nerves, your whole body tenses and you avoid stuttering as you speak, stirring in your seat.

"Yeah, yeah, just…" you lower your gaze, playing with your fingers, "I just want to talk to you about something."

Aemond nods, giving you his full attention.

"Well? What is it?" he asks you warmly, not wanting to put pressure on you as he notices all the tension that is invading you at the moment.

But he honestly starts to worry seeing you that way.

And you swallow hard, with your gaze lowered, feeling the need to just let it out and nothing more, having that urge so you don't keep torturing yourself with your destructive thoughts.

"I was thinking that… maybe…" you let out a sigh, "Maybe we should stop this," you mutter, your voice barely a whisper.

And Aemond only watches you more intently, beginning to look alert, furrowing his brows in confusion.

"Stop what?"

You bite the inside of your cheek hard, completely flustered.

"Our fake relationship," you reply cautiously, watching him intently and with some concern.

"What?" he immediately queries you, "I-I don't-I don't understand."

"I think we've both accomplished what we wanted to… oh well, almost everything," you tell him knowingly, "But we've already put on a good show in front of the whole school, Alys is upset enough, and the cheating thing is behind us. We should stop."

You explain but in the middle of all your explanation, Aemond only frowns more, listening to you completely attentive, watching you surprised and incredulous.

"And the trip to Dragonstone?" he inquires you, with a serious and alert look, "That trip is key, it would be great for both of us to go together, as a couple."

You try to remain calm, but your heart is pounding and your nerves are getting the better of you.

"Yes, I know, but… do we really need to keep pretending?" you ask, "You've already saved your reputation, remember?"

Aemond shakes his head firmly, his jaw tense with mounting frustration.

"It's still not enough," he tells you seriously, "At least wait until after the trip."

"Aemond, I don't see why we should wait until then," you mutter, unsure, "We can finish everything now."

Aemond's expression hardens, his jaw tense with frustration as he tries to understand you.

"Y/N, the trip is in the contract," he tells you firmly, "And we agreed to finish everything until graduation."

You exhale, feeling the overwhelming weight of the situation that you didn't expect was going to get this bad the moment you decided to do this.

"I know, but I don't see the point of this anymore."

He becomes more confused, shaking his head, looking at you confused and now completely frustrated.

"What-what's wrong?" he asks you in a soft but urgent voice, attentive, "Did something happen?" he asks you concerned and interested, "Did something happen that I still don't know about?"

Oh God.

Fear grips you as you struggle to keep your composure and not let your nerves get the better of you.

"Or is this because of the dinner thing? And because of Alys' pranks?" he asks you worriedly, "If it's that, tell me. I-I'll find a way to fix it. You won't have to go to dinner at my house again and I'm sure I can talk to Alys."

"No, no… I-I…" you sigh, "It's not that-

He shrugs, looking at you confused and frustrated.

"Then what is it?"

Your heart pounds as you struggle to keep your composure in front of him.

Your words get stuck in your throat, enduring Aemond's still serious, worried and frustrated look on you, waiting for an explanation. But the feeling of panic grows in your chest and you resign yourself completely.

"Nothing, forget it," you say in a whisper, lowering your gaze.

You stand up and gather your things, slinging your backpack over your shoulder, just as Aemond sighs and looks more frustrated.

"Y/N," he calls your name in a tired gesture.

But you don't heed him, just focus on getting away from him,

"Y/N, please stop," he says to you in a soft but urgent voice.

But you don't stop, you can't.

How could you do it and how could you tell him that the real reason you decided to bring this up to your fake boyfriend is because maybe you are actually falling in love with him and the feeling is getting more and more intense, and you can't help it?

You just can't.

general taglist:

@melsunshine @at-a-rax-ia @jxdegodfrey @ttkttt @yentroucnagol @kate-to-the-ki @iamavailablesstuff @bluerskiees @urmomsgirlfriend1 @toodlesxcuddles @rosie-posie08 @iloveallmyboys @bellaisasleep @deliaseastar @cupcakesminicakescupcakes @dixie-elocin @lilostif16 @wickedfrsgrl @a-beaverhausen @a-beaverhausen @saturnssrings @ladythornofrivia @iloveallmyboys

[tomblythismyhusband]

dress [ young!snow x fem!reader ]

[summary]: young!student!snow x fem!reader | You’ve had a crush on Coriolanus for years and tonight, wearing a dress you picked out just for him, you finally get what you want.

[warnings]: 18+, smut, pnv, language, other smut warnings yk yk, fingering, unprotected

[wc:] 2.4k

[note:] wrote this story in first person…. can’t decide if i like it or not +inspired by the song - [dress - taylor swift]

My eyes swept across the busy ballroom floor of the academy. It was filled to the brim with people laughing, drinking, dancing, all of it. I pulled down my red silk dress nervously that was a little too short for my liking.

I always had been very adamant about wearing what I wanted, but not today. I was here to impress someone, specifically Coriolanus Snow.

We have been close friends since we were practically babies. Our families grew up together. I know all his secrets, and he knows all of mine. I was one of the only people that knew about his family’s financial state, his worries, and his heartaches. I never ever thought twice about judging him for it either. The world was a tough place. Especially after the war.

My eyes still searched for him. A tiny doubt in the back of my mind wondered if he even would show up. I had never thought to ask, I just assumed.

I sighed and grabbed a drink of posca and strode over to Clemensia and Arachne, who were also close friends to me. When I came over to join their group, they were talking about a guy, as usual. When they noticed me Arachne flashed a grin.

“Speaking of obsessed….” She said in a teasing tone.

I had no idea what they were talking about before so my eyebrows knit in confusion.

I cocked my head to the side. “What are you two talking about?” I asked, taking a sip of the sweet liquor in my hands.

Clemensia giggled. “We were just talking about Festus Creed and how obsessed he’s been with me lately.” She smirked. “Reminds me of someone…”

Arachne let out a laugh as I felt my cheeks heat. I had told them about my little crush on Coriolanus but I haven’t gotten used to their taunts yet.

“Stop it…” I murmured.

“I say you make a move tonight.” Arachne suggested raising her eyebrows.

I sighed. Something had been off between Coriolanus and I recently. I wasn’t entirely sure, I’m thinking It’s just stress. He’s been so focused on winning the Plinth Prize this year that he’s been working himself to death.

“I don’t think he sees me that way. We’ve been friends for so long.”

Clemensia let out a laugh. “With the way you’re dressed tonight? He’ll definitely see you that way.”

I blushed again, running my hands down the fabric. I hated being desperate but this dress was all I was depending on. The color, the length, the way it hugged my body, were all decisions I made with Coriolanus in mind.

Arachne’s smile widened. “I see him. He’s here.” Her excitement was obvious. Either she was actually excited for me to shoot my shot or she was excited to watch me fail horribly. I could never tell with her.

I turned my body slightly, stealing a glance at Coriolanus. He was gorgeous. His blonde curls were neat and his dress shirt and pants pressed to perfection. I knew I couldn’t stare for too long but I couldn’t help myself. He looked bored, standing away from the crowds.

I turned away from the sight and looked at Clemmie and Arachne. “I’m going over.” I said confidently. “It’s fine we’re friends.” They both egged me on as I placed my now empty posca I had downed onto a platter of dirty cups and started to make my way over to him. My heart was thumping in my chest, my palms sticky with sweat. I was never this nervous with him in class, or when we would study together but this romantic dance setting changed everything.

He was looking around when suddenly his blue eyes met mine. His body language instantly changed as I smiled at him. He looked…. nervous? Uncomfortable? He was so hard to read sometimes.

“Hey you made it!” I said sweetly, masking the nervousness I was feeling.

His mouth quirked up into a smile. “You know I wouldn’t miss it.” He said lowly. His eyes flicked down at my dress then back up to my eyes. “Nice dress Y/n” He said quietly. I blushed looking down at it. “Thanks… I picked it out specially for today.” When I looked back up at him he looked overwhelmed. I felt extremely awkward and bit my lip. “Wanna dance?” I said sticking out my hand. He hesitated for a moment before taking it. I prayed that he wouldn’t feel how nervous I was. I led him to the dance floor.

We positioned ourselves across from each other as I put one of my hands on his shoulders as he held the other. I felt his hand snake around my waist. I’ve waltzed countless times before but doing it with Coriolanus made me trip over my own feet.

Coriolanus chuckled, looking down at me. “Clumsy today?” He teased. I felt his hand squeeze mine as I returned a giggle.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I sighed, smiling at him.

We continued to dance till my feet were numb. I felt much more comfortable now, my nervousness melting away as he spun me around effortlessly.

After a while I felt him lean in close to my ear. “Want to go take a breather?”

I couldn’t be more happy with a question as I nodded, following him off the dance floor. I stole a glance at Clemensia, raising my eyebrows at her, as she grinned back at me. He led me out of the noisy ballroom to the empty hallway that lay just outside.

I leaned up against the wall, letting out a breath. “Never knew dancing could take so much out of a person.” I laughed.

Coriolanus smirked, looking amused. “You're a good dancer. You lasted a lot longer than I expected you to.”

My cheeks heated at the statement. I don’t think he meant for it to be suggestive but It definitely made my mind go to the gutter.

He paused, lips parted, then laughed at himself. “That sounded wrong didn't it?”

I bit back a giggle looking at him. “Definitely did.”

He sighed looking at me, almost longingly. “It’s getting late. I didn’t really want to stay here too long, I going to head home.”

A pang of panic flashed through my body. He can’t leave yet! I’ve barely gotten to spend time with him like I wanted.

“Awh come on.. don’t let the fun end yet.” I pouted, giving him a small smile.

His voice lowered as he moved closer to me. “Or…..You could come with me… Tigris isn’t home.”

I felt my breath hitch at the suggestion. I couldn’t decipher where he was going with this.

“Why would I care if Tigris is home? I love her….” I wanted to know his real intentions.

His intense gaze met my eyes. “Y/n.. I was hoping we could…..”

Without thinking I leaned up, kissing him. His lips felt exactly like I had daydreamed about. Soft and warm. He let out a grunt as I kissed him, before I pulled back. I stared up at him and silently prayed that I read into the situation correctly. He stared at me for a moment, studying my face. “I want you Y/n.” He said in a low voice, dripping with desire.

I let out a small gasp. “Are you s-“

“I’m sure.” He said cutting me off. He pulled my waist against him. “What do you say darling?”

Next thing I was stumbling into Coriolanus’ bedroom. His Grandma’am was dead asleep and Tigris was gone for the night. My heart fluttered as he closed and locked his bedroom door behind him before pushing me up against the stiff wood. I had been in Coriolanus’ room many times but never was I this excited.

His lips mashed into mine, desperately. I felt his big hands slowly travel up my thighs.

“You look so stunning in this dress..” He mumbled against my lips.

“I wore it just for you.” I whispered. He was flattered and pulled back.

I bit my lip and stared up at him.

“I only bought this dress so you could take it off…”

He moaned at my words, meeting my lips for another hungry kiss.

“I’ll make sure that happens darling.” He promised as his hands slid up to grip my waist tighter. My panties were absolutely soaked, as his tongue slipped into my mouth causing me to let out a tiny moan. He was starting to get rough, dominant.

Luckily neither of us were virgins so our hands knew exactly where to go. My arms wrapped around his neck, pulling his lips more into mine. He growled as he pushed up against me.

“Take it off…..” I whispered, slightly shifting my body in my dress. I let one of the straps of my dress fall slack off my shoulder. I watched as Coriolanus grinned and wrapped his arms around me to fumble with the zipper. I felt him slowly zip me down, my body feeling more exposed with every moment. His fingers were gentle as they ran over my skin.

With the dress fully unzipped he slid it down, the red fabric pooling at my feet like blood. He was silent for a moment as he gazed at my body. I had put on a lacy black bra and panty set that I was glad he got to see. He dragged one of his hands up to my breasts, lightly massaging them as his lips found my neck.

“I liked the dress, but I like you like this a lot more.” He mumbled into my neck as his hands squeezed my tits. I let out a moan as he nipped my skin. His hands were rough, his mouth gentle. I was in heaven.

My hands fumbled with the buttons of his dress shirt, unbuttoning them one by one. He contributed by pulling to off and throwing it to the ground. He was lean, the sharp angles of his body making my heart pound even harder. He was beautiful. I wanted him to destroy me.

I threw my hands around his neck and slammed his face against mine. He moaned into my mouth as my hands dug into his blonde hair.

“Let me pick you up.” He directed in a raspy voice between kisses. I did as directed and shifted my body so he could pick me up. His kisses still on my body, he picked me up, supporting me by my ass as my legs wrapped around his waist. I loved the feeling of his bare skin against my thighs.

He carried me to the bed and laid me down softly. I heard him unzip his pants and watched as they fell to the floor. I unclipped my bra, throwing it in the floor, earning a smirk from him.

His boxers went next, he slid them down, his big erection springing out. My breath hitched at the sight as I laid there, my panties still absolutely soaked. He climbed on top of me, smirking as he kissed my collar bone.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll take care of you first.” He said in a low tone. I felt his cold hand slide then dip beneath the waistband of my panties.

His fingers felt around my folds. I couldn’t breathe. His touch soon found my clit and I jerked as he started to rub firm circles on the spot. He kept kissing my chest as his fingers moved faster and faster.

I could see stars as I closed my eyes, my breathing picking up pace. “Corio..” I moaned as I arched into his touch. My hands gripped the sheets on either side of me. No matter how loud my moans got he didn’t let up the pressure. A familiar knot signaling I was getting closer to an orgasm formed in the pit of my stomach.

Coriolanus kept squeezing and circling my clit as he left kisses on my jaw. Finally my eyes squeezed shut and white light flashed in my vision. My legs were shaking violently as he removed his fingers from my cunt.

I opened my eyes to see him suck his fingers, letting out a hum as he stared at me, proud of himself.

“Ready for more love?” He teased in a low voice as he hooked his finger on my panties pulling them off.

“I want you.” I replied, still dazed from the orgasm he had just given me.

He spread my legs, his iron grip keeping me still as I whimpered with need. Coriolanus rubbed the tip of his cock on my entrance before sinking into me.

He let out a low throaty moan as he started to move in and out of my pussy.

“Fuck you feel good.” He croaked, picking up speed. My jaw went slack as he moved. His thrusts becoming more and more aggressive.

I felt my eyes roll back with every swift motion. I felt the knot building in the pit of my stomach again signaling that I was climbing up to another orgasm.

Coriolanus’ right grip on me never faltered as he hit my g-spot perfectly with each stroke. “Corio.. I’m almost there.” I moaned, my hands clawing at his back.

“Just a little more darling.” He said in a rough voice. His eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth open letting out breaths of pleasure.

He shifted his body so he was closer to my face as his hips snapped against mine.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He murmured, gripping my hips as I let out a muffled cry. I couldn’t think. He filled all of my senses as I orgasmed around his cock.

He gave me a deep kiss as I squeezed around him. I was a shaken mess. Finally I felt him pull out and release on my tummy. His body fell next to mine as he kissed my neck.

“That was amazing Y/n.” He sighed, running his fingers gently over me.

I gave him a sleepy smile. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” I whispered, meeting his eyes. We were both still breathless and in a state of bliss.

He ran his hand through my hair and gave me a soft smile. “I’ve wanted you too, for a while now. That dress of yours just put me over the edge.”

I blushed at this statement as he pulled my close, encasing me in his arms

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

You know I had seen some headcanons about ghostflower as parents, and here is a bit of my take on that.

Miles is the responsible dad, Gwen is the fun mom.

And that assumption has entirely to do with this.

Yep, I think the roles would be reversed for them, hear me out.

Miles was raised by loving and present parents, they have room for improvement but I don't doubt that Jeff and Rio knew how to establish healthy boundaries, knew when to be strict and when to be more permissive, and are all overall supportive, amazing parents.

Now, the thing about Gwen's parents-

Mom we know nothing, Gwen's mom is never mentioned in the spider-verse movies and again, I haven't read all of her comics, but if that woman was mentioned I don't remember. I normally assume she died when Gwen was very young so she doesn't have too many memories of her.

This leaves us with George.

So, I don't think George is the worst, I have my issues and I would scream at him until he goes deaf- but you can see at the end that he loves Gwen, and while he doesn't know what he is doing, he is trying.

We haven't seen much of him, but what did I notice?

He is not good with emotional intelligence; he doesn't realize that telling Gwen how the case is doing will not make her feel better (and it has to be a while since Peter died, he should know this by now.) Clearly doesn't know what to say to cheer her up. Tries to talk about his job and his duty when he doesn't know how to proceed.

And then he leaves because there was an emergency with the police; and is obvious this is not a rare occurrence. As someone who was basically raised by a single parent doing a lot of hours at work, I can tell you by this interaction that Gwen probably spend hours or entire nights alone.

So, how does translate to their parent styles?

Miles would feel a lot more confident in his role as a parent, he would definitely read a lot of books and would have his parents on speed dial; but Miles he is also a natural. He would thinking back on how his parents raise him, looking back in their decisions and understanding where they are coming from, and overall end up finding a middle point between how he grew up, and what he thinks is right for him and his family.

I will share what he does when the kids are older while sharing Gwen's approach.

Gwen on the other hand? Extremely anxious, Miles needed to reassure her a lot specially at the beginning. She can barely remember her mom, and her dad wasn't the most present. While I think by this point the relationship between her and Miles's parents would be better, I think part of her would also be afraid looking incompetent in comparison to Rio.

Later when the kids are older, Gwen defaults more to let the kids play and do things that they probably shouldn't "Is just one day/night," "Oh when I was their age I was trying to imitate the gymnasts on the TV, at least they are a lot more resistant that I was!" and "Hmmm, maybe this is something we should ask your father too."

Gwen's laxer approach was thanks to not being heavily supervised and not realizing when is too much at times, or thinking these is one of those things kids should learn and it would be fine.

Thanks to this, Miles is normally the one who needs to more strict and reasonable. "No, we can't have popcorn and ice cream for dinner, it doesn't matter if is Friday and summer is starting"; "I DON'T CARE IF YOU CAN HANDLE FALLING 6 FEET TO THE GROUND, YOU ARE NOT PRACTISING TIGHT ROPE!" and "I told you no, and don't go asking your mother just so she can say yes, I will find out."

Miles is still, the one parent to go when the kids are sad, upset or need to be hear out. While he may be stricter of the two and tries to stop anything that he deems too far; he knows the best how to de-escalate a situation and see reason.

Gwen while a lot of times doesn't know what to do, their kids always go to her when they just need a hug and be comforted. While Gwen a lot of times doesn't know what to say to make things better, or what advice to give; she never shy's away from telling her kids that sometimes they will make mistakes, and she would do too, but that never means they deserve any less love or compassion; no matter how hard the world is or the mistakes they make, Gwen promises to be there at any point, and that Miles and her would never stop loving them.

There is a lot of adjustments and discussions, but they balance it out.

[blackbat05]

The Gall of HeR!

Evan Buckley x Reader (Gender not Specified)

Plot: You come back home feeling blue from work. Luckily, Buck is there to lend you some support.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: New character! Only started watching 9-1-1 last year but wasn’t in the best back then. It’s been such a huge support to get where I am today so it’s only appropriate to do this! Also I can’t deny this is based on actual experience recently so this is my way of therapy😂 In all seriousness, note to self to always fight for myself because no one will do it for me.

“Hey! I’m home!”

Buck pads out of the kitchen in his “kiss the cook apron” that Eddie gave him as a Christmas Present last year as a joke.

“How’s work?”

I sigh, putting my bag to one side before unceremoniously dumping myself on the couch. “It was good, and then it was bad. Do I make sense?” My nose crinkles in confusion and I at that point I wished that my brain would stop running at a hundred miles per hour. Though, a part of me really needed to vent my feelings in a safe space. Buck was my safe space.

“They approached me for a possible promotion at the Library.” I start and Buck’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, that was my reaction. Inside. I didn’t expect this at all.”

Buck comes to sit beside me on the couch, body angled to face me fully. I take a deep breath and proceeded to explain how I had to ground myself first, to hear more details from HR before committing to that decision.

“So, I had that first meeting with Esther and obviously I needed time to process right? I didn’t understand some points that were raised and I wanted to clarify with her what some things meant to I called a second meeting the next day.” I explained. “The second meeting goes fine. It mostly involved her clarifying my doubts. Then after the meeting, she sends me an email noting all the things we discussed, and guess what?” I find the rage in the pit of my stomach bubbling.

“She adds in the extra clause that initially, they thought of reverting me back into my original position if things didn’t work out. But after considering the company’s position, if I did not perform or if I decided not to continue, I would have to leave the company!” My voice gets higher with each passing second. Buck reaches out to grab my hand, a soothing reminder that I was not in the library reading that darned email but I was here, with him.

“And then, Esther had the gall to storm into the library and yell at me what I meant when I sent that email and now she’s in trouble with the higher ups! My fault? How is expressing my opinions in a professional manner my fault?”

I finish off telling Buck that I wasn’t afraid of taking on the challenge. But my biggest issue was only being informed of this only after my second meeting and when I bought up the possibility of not taking on the role to her.

“Wow.” Buck purses his lips. I look at him reproachfully.

“You think I’m acting up too.”

“No. I think you’re standing up for yourself. No matter what others may say or think. It’s good that you question everything that’s being presented to you least you be taken advantaged.”

“Even if it means they might pass me up on this because they think I’m such a prima donna?”

Buck laughs. “In all seriousness. There are more ways to grow than besides promotions at work. You’re growing as a person and that’s more important. Do what you want to do and always do it for yourself.”

You don’t know what you did to deserve this man in this lifetime. Someone who supported you no matter what. That’s what you really needed right now.

“Thanks Buck,” you threw yourself into him for a hug. “I think I really needed to hear that. After all those times of doubting myself, I really needed to hear it.”

“Hey, you know I’m always your biggest supporter. Now let’s go and have dinner. Bobby taught me how to make this lasagna and we are not about to let it get cold.”

“Gosh, what would I do without you?”

“You’ll never have to know.”

[john-get-the-salt]

No one (w/bejicot blackwood)

Imagine: After a chance meeting with a Blackwood, you realize the Riverlands may indeed have potential

Contains: Technically fancast but idc who they say this man below is, he's my beniji okay LOOK AT HIM. Reader is half Targaryen and badass cause i said so. Also a Dragon that i made up because thats the beauty of fanfic. Gender neutral terminology as much as possible

Warnings: none

(p.s. potential for part 2? Of reader and benji at dragon stone? lemme know?)

Bastard

Disgrace

Unworthy

All words you’d been hearing since the day you were born. A bastard child of the late King Viserys, you born from a hasty decision made while he was in the throws of grief after his wife-the queen-died. A mistake.

You never knew your biological mother, only knew the gifts she'd left you-her common colored eyes and a loyalty as fierce as a dragon. You also knew that she had died giving birth to you. It wasn’t uncommon for Targaryen woman to die giving birth, nevermind those of common blood. As your father told it she never stood a chance. But your father, for all intents and purposes, was a good man. Despite the disgrace others found you, he treated you like kin.

You were, after all, half of him.

With time you learned to ignore the judgments of strangers. Even though your white hair showed off your Targaryen blood, there were many who still challenged your lineage. But even the most vocal of your haters fell silent when you claimed a dragon in your 12th year.

Despite it all, your father loved you. And his first born was no different.

Rhaenyra adored you, her brave little sibling. She missed her mother, but found you healing a portion of her heart. She helped her father raise you, and as you bloomed into a young adult you two remained thick as thieves. She was relieved to have someone to help shoulder the burden when your father eventually passed. Evil had crept into the kingdom in the form of the Hightowers, and on more than one occasion they had tried to poison your mind against your sister and her birthright. But it was useless. Family and honor were more important than anything, and so you stood proudly by your sister-the rightful Queen.

This all, of course, led you to where you sat now.

You were on a tour orchestrated by the high counsel, rallying men for Rhaenyra and keeping morale high. Unease had grown in some of the outer lands, and word was spreading that some doubted the royals allegiance to the people. Your task, as the counsel worded it, was to meet with the people and show that the royal family did care for them, would stand with them and not behind them.

Though honestly right now, you didn’t want to stand anywhere near them.

“Ser Lorent, what are we at now?”

“That was the 21st.”

“Surely not!”

“Perhaps not…..I stopped counting after the 13th.”

You blew air from your lips, crossing your arms. The current stop was in the Riverlands. It was a beautiful part of the world with it's rolling hills and greenery. Not that you were enjoying it, trapped in a stifling hot court room listening to queries and declarations and questions. That in itself wasn’t the problem, you were always happy to speak with the people. The problem was the topics in question.

“Surely none of those 21 thought I would actually accept their hand? I’m here to discuss war, not marriage!”

“I can’t say for certain. Though the last few you turned down did seem a bit spooked.”

You humphed. “Good. Maybe it will scare off any others feeling brave. I’d sooner let Bryaxis eat me then become an obedient spouse for some fool to order around.”

“Easy,” Ser Lorent warned, acutely aware the two of you still had an audience.

“I need a break,” you announced, pushing yourself up from your chair. “I find myself quite parched and warm, might we take a break for me to collect myself before we continue?”

The lords hosting for the day nodded, dismissing their people from the courtroom for the afternoon.

You turned to your knight. “I’m going for a walk. I need some fresh air.”

“I must insister I accompany you.”

"I'll be fine, Ser."

"Have you got your sword?"

You patted your back where your trusty blade lay sheathed down your spine. "When do i not?"

The knight sighed. "I feel I'm going to regret this. Won’t you take your dragon?”

"You worry too much, and Bryaxis would bring the attention I'm looking to avoid. I'll be back in an hours time after I’ve had a break from this stifling place."

Before the man could change his mind you were slipping from the room and following a maids directions to the outside gardens.

The moment you were free of the stuffy stone building you took a deep breath of fresh air. While still hot outside, there was at least a slight breeze giving you relief. Hoping to avoid detection you pulled your hood up, then you were off. You strolled the lands belonging to the lords hosting, sprawling and filled with foliage and wildlife. You managed to avoid anyone else, getting the peace and quiet you so desperately craved. At least, until you hit the peak of a hill and then began descending it.

Up ahead, there was what you guessed to be a training area. Dummies made of various materials stood haphazardly propped up. You walked closer, curious. As you drew near you realized there was someone there. A young strapping man with dark hair was training with his sword. He stood amongst the dummies, weaving around while he struck them with his blade.

You watched him in awe for a few minutes. He sword struck with such force, yet his movements were smooth and fluid. He moved like it was second nature to have a blade in hand, like it was an extension of his arm. Considering how many great warriors you'd witness train, he was impressive.

The stranger paused for a moment to catch his breath, and that’s when he finally noticed his admirer. Realizing you'd been caught, you walked forward to the edge of the training yard.

"I hope I didn't startle you. I was just observing. You have a way with the blade, my lord."

The man's eyes had widened more and more the closer you got, and his cheeks flushed at the compliment.

"You flatter me. I was just training, fooling around. It's nothing-"

"Nonsense. I know good technique when I see it."

His face grew a cherry red, and a beat of silence hung between you two. You were moments away from excusing yourself and returning to the court and Ser Lorent when the man spoke again. He'd taken a beat to compose himself, and his complexion had returned to it's natural color.

"Forgive me. I don't believe we've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Are you new to the riverlands?"

You froze in place, eyes wide. The man before you had no idea who you were. You didn’t have the signature purple eyes, and your giveaway white hair was tucked back into your hood. The shock quickly weared off and the new realization left you pleased. This was a welcome change, one you would be taking advantage of. You finally blinked again, relaxing your stance.

“I’m no one. Just passing through when I was overcome with the need for fresh air and a walk. My apologies for interrupting, lord...?”

“No apology needed. And I am not a lord, that would be-"

You waved the formality away and his words died on his tongue. "All the lady and lord nonsense never made much sense to me. I much prefer names."

And so you two swapped introductions. Though you realized, just a beat after he gave you his, that your name would almost undoubtfully give you away. So you gave the name of one of your own ladies in waiting.

And this man, this handsome man, was Benjicot Blackwood.

"The Blackwoods are fierce fighters, or so I've heard. From the looks of you before I interrupted the rumors are true."

Benji blushed, though you could have sworn his chest puffed out a bit at the compliment. You struggled to hold in a laugh at the observation.

"We take our training very seriously."

"And you fight for the Blacks?" You asked carefully, keeping your face and tone neutral.

"Aye, for the true queen Rhaenyra. And proud of it."

A real smile blossomed on your face, and Benji relaxed his shoulders in relief.

"It pleases me to hear so."

Then it was your turn to blush as Benji shot you a stunning smile. Desperate to turn the subject, you asked something you'd been dying to know since you first laid eyes on him.

"Would you indulge me in sharing how you did that one move with your sword and the spin?"

"Pardon?"

"When you lifted your sword like this and then went-" you did a poor attempt to demonstrate the move.

"Ah, this?" Benji repeated it, so fast that all you could make out was him tossing his sword into the air and then spinning around fast enough to catch it again before it could fall.

Your face lit up. "Yes, that!"

"Sure-do you-are you familiar with swordsmanship?"

You tried to ignore how cute you found his stumbling and instead nodded. You reached over your shoulder and pulled out Night Cleaver. A gift from Daemon, it was one of your most prized possessions.

"My family and I train sometimes. I'm still learning, but I've never seen that move you did. Could you try to teach me?"

"Are you sure?"

You rasied an eyebrow and Benji rushed to continue, "I just mean-in your attire. Can you move around in it well enough? I dont want you to trip or strain yourself.”

“I’ve trained in almost every sort of clothing, including nothing. I’ll be alright.”

Benji gulped, trying to keep his brain from imagining you swinging a sword around naked.

“Are you alright?” You asked as the man had gone beet red again and was very obviously avoiding your eyes.

He nodded furiously and you couldn’t help but find him entirely adorable in that moment. “Sorry for an unwanted imagery that may have brought up. But I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t my intention.”

Benji’s flustered expression morphed into one of disbelief.

“You’re a little flirt, aren’t you?”

You merely smiled and batted your eyelashes.

He shook his head, though a smirk was growing on his face. Gods he was attractive.

“So, first you want to plant your feet like this…”

As the time passed after that you could barely feel it, fully absorbed in the man in front of you and what he was teaching. Hours could’ve flown by and you’d be none the wiser.

He was good, any form of shyness vanishing as he patiently and kindly taught you how to replicate his impressive move. In the meanwhile you two bantered, swapping bits of information about yourselves. You changed names when needed, but otherwise kept honest. The move was hard, and even with your above average skills you struggled.

"Here, may I?"

You nodded, and Benji took a few steps closer. The two of you had remained a few feet apart for the entirety of the interaction, until now. Now he was within breathing room as he rested one hand oh so carefully on your wrist and the other on the small of your back to turn you the right direction. He smelled of sweat and leather and faintly of rain soaked stone. You couldnt help but bask in it, as the everlasting time seemed to slow and you both met eyes and leaned in-

A roar bellowed through the skies, causing both of you to freeze and look up. Any panic you felt evaporated at the sight of familiar black wings soaring through the skies, and you smiled as Bryaxis sped up once he caught sight of you.

Meanwhile Benjicot had gone pale, and was internally panicking at the large creature careening towards you. He grabbed your waist and tucked you behind himself while he raised his sword. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could take on a dragon, but he was crazy enough to try.

“Stay behind me!”

“Wait, Benji-“

You were interrupted by Bryaxis letting loose another roar, angry at the sight of someone he didn't recognize touching you. He grew closer, and as he gave his wings once final flap he was hitting the ground with a deafening boom. The moment he landed you broke out of Benji’s grasp.

“Wait!” He shouted, but you didn’t stop. You ran to your dragon, who was already opening his mouth and preparing to burn Benji alive.

“Bryaxis! Don’t!”

He halted, mouth still wide open and showing off his rows of razor sharp teeth.

By time you reached his side, your hood had fallen from your head.

“He’s a friend. No need to burn.”

Bryaxis gave a little whine through his nose but closes his mouth and laid his head down in front of you. You sighed in relief, and rested your hand on his snout.

“Good boy, Bry.”

He shut his eyes and purred at the attention. He was really a softie at heart

“What in the bloody hell?”

Bryaxis’ eyes snapped back open and narrowed at the man behind you that you’d nearly forgotten about.

“Easy boy,” you warned him, keeping a hand on his nose while you turned to meet Benji’s wide eyes.

“You….you’re a Targaryen.”

The wind picked up a bit, blowing your now revealed white hair around you.

“Yes. This is Bryaxis. And I’m-“

“The princess.”

Your face warmed. “I….apologize for not being totally honest, Benji.”

His eyes remained wide, unbelieving. Then he suddenly dropped to one knee, bowing deeply.

“My apologies Princess, I meant no ill with any of my comments I-“

“Benji,” you stepped away from your dragon to reach for him, pulling him back to his full height tall above you. “Stop that. I didn’t say anything because I enjoyed being known as commonfolk. I…didn’t want you to desire my company just because of my family, because of who I am. It felt nice that you seemed to like me for me. As ridiculous as that may sound.”

Far from your usual confident self, your voice swayed and hands trembled as you tried to express yourself properly. You were fearful that this thing between you was destroyed before it even had the chance to become something.

“Not ridiculous at all,” Benji said softly, hesitating for a moment before he brought his hands to your face. He moved slowly, giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You let him hold your face so softly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. His heart broke a bit at the thought that you had to lie just to be treated as a normal human being.

“I understand why you were cautious, that’s smart of you. I could have been a danger, I could have been a threat.”

“Well…you were quite threatening to those dummies.”

Benji laughed at that, loud and full and careless.

“If I promise to be honest from here on out….would you consider seeing me again before I take my leave from the Riverlands? After all, I still haven’t quite mastered the sword spin trick of yours.”

“Are you sure? To quote a fine lady….I’m no one.”

“That’s not true. You’re someone.”

Benji hummed, giving you a soft sort of smile as he studied your face before answering.

"Same time tomorrow? I’ll bring lunch.”

[bitethedevil]

Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 16

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Raphael and Tav have a long conversation and she finally makes her decision.

(AN: Here we are. We are finally reaching the conclusion. This chapter is technically the end, and the next one will be a sort of epilogue (and the very last chapter.))

Tav was pacing. She was thinking. There were too many thoughts going through her head at once. Too many of them were colored by feelings rather than rationality. Anger at what she had witnessed. Grief at what she might be losing no matter what she chooses. Stress at having to make a decision like this. Fear of the inevitability of it all.

Raphael finally came back up from Hope’s old cell. He was in his cambion form, suggesting that he might have taken out his frustrations from her comments on Cassius, though she could see no blood on him. He tried to silently sneak past her. She did ask for peace and quiet, after all. She found out that peace and quiet did nothing for her. She stopped her pacing to look at him.

“Come here, please,” she said.

Raphael stopped in his tracks and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. The look of defeat he had when she gave him a piece of her mind in the cell had been exchanged for his usual façade of calmness.

“You said that you wished for a moment of privacy.”

“I did. Now I don’t,” she said and waved a hand at a chair. “Please sit down.”

He narrowed his orange eyes at her.

“You seem confused, dear,” he said. “Your current predicament does not allow you to give me orders in my own home. You—”

“Would you please shut up for once,” she snapped in irritation. “And sit down. I’m not ordering you I’m asking you, and even if I was, stop acting like you are not interested in what I have to say.”

There was a look of faint surprise on his face at her bluntness. He opened his mouth to say something.

“No,” she warned before a word could come out and pointed at the chair once again.

She could see him bite the inner side of his cheek to not smile in amusement. He looked her up and down while he was trying to decide whether he should fight her on the matter. He eventually walked to the chair and sat down. He leaned back in the chair and waited patiently for her to talk. She threw herself down in the chair opposite from him.

“You are without a doubt the worst bastard I have ever had the misfortune of knowing,” she said coldly. “I hated you so much before I was released. I hated you after as well. I still do, in fact. You are a terrible, evil person and that’s a fact you are well aware of. A fact that you enjoy, even.”

A smile tugged at Raphael’s lips.

“May I speak?” he asked.

“No, this isn’t really a conversation,” she said with a sigh and brushed his question away with a wave of her hand. “I just feel stupid talking to myself.”

Raphael gave her a short ‘mm’ and nodded, while he tried his best to hide his amusement at the situation.

“Let’s go over what you have actually done to me personally though,” she mumbled to herself with another sigh and started counting the incidents on her fingers. “You kidnapped me because you were angry that I broke into your house and that I did not give you the Crown of Karsus. You fucked me to pieces the first time we had sex…”

A self-satisfied look washed over his face at the mention of that. Tav kept listing:

“You almost killed me in your sleep, accident or not. You fingered me while you made me play the song that you planned on killing me and all of my friends to.”

“You were not complaining at the time…” Raphael chimed in with a smile.

“Shhhh,” she shushed and kept going. “You made it sound like I was complicit in what happened to Cassius the first time you punished him. You are doing the same now that you are punishing him again…Then there is of course the parade of evil shit you have put me through the last 24 hours…And all of the blatant manipulation and mind games, but I don’t have enough fingers for counting that.”

She leaned back in the chair and looked at the ceiling as she tried to remember if she had forgotten anything.

“Quite the list, but not as long as I might have anticipated,” she mumbled. “Most of them are not that horrible either. Though it doesn’t include all the horrible things you have done to others, which I should consider. I have killed plenty of other people for less than what I know you have done to others. I don’t even want to think about what I don’t know.”

She took a deep breath. It was quiet for a moment while she was thinking. There was only the sound of the cracks from the fireplace and the howling of souls in the distance. She fiddled with the arm of the chair while she looked into the flames with an empty stare.

“You’ve also been kind…” she said quietly. “To me, at least. That night where you almost killed me. You saved my life as well after. You accepted my scars when I showed them to you…You slept in human form from that day on so you wouldn’t do it again.”

“You called out my name…”

“What?” she asked.

“You called out my name that night,” he repeated in an uncharacteristically quiet voice and then cleared his throat. “I woke up because you screamed my name while I was tearing you apart.”

“Well…yes,” she said as if he had stated something obvious. “To make you stop.”

He gave her a small smile and then looked into the fire.

“You had been sleeping,” he said in a low voice. “You could have called for one of the servants, you might have even been sleeping so heavily that you did not realize where you were and called for your friends in a moment of confusion, or you could have even simply called for help. You did not. Your first instinct was to call on me. You were so certain that I would stop if you simply awoke me.”

She raised an eyebrow at that.

“You did,” she said. “Or at least you must have at some point, since you managed to save me.”

“Though you were so certain that I would that you might have used your final breath to call out for the very person who would have been the cause for your death.”

Tav scrunched up her face and looked at the floor as she thought about it. It had been instinct. She had instinctively known that he would stop if he knew what he was doing, though he had given her no reason to believe that he particularly cared for her at that point.

“Your life was never crucial to my plan,” he said. “A fact that I am certain you have already figured out on your own. Perhaps, if you had not called out my name that night, I might have saved myself the trouble of saving you and gone along with my second plan: tell your friends that you are dead, wait for them to avenge you, kill them, and retrieve the hammer myself. How different things could have been, were it not for such a small thing…”

He looked at her. Though there was still a façade of calmness on his face, she could see that there was also a glimmer of something in his eyes that suggested that a part of him was worried about her reaction. She probably should have been mad at having just been told that she could have been long dead, killed by the man she loved. She was not. She was confused more than anything.

“Well why didn’t you then?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I found it curious,” he said quietly. “The stubborn, idiotic woman who had been a thorn in my side for so long, who was then reduced to this…fragile, dying, little thing in my arms. It felt like hours as I held you under the water, wishing for it to wash away what I had done. You had trusted me in your final moments…found me a savior, even. Not out of desperation like so many others, but pure, naïve, misplaced trust.”

He turned his head to look into the fire again and took a deep, sharp breath. It was clear on his face that the devil part of him was actively fighting the mortal part that felt some emotion over the confession.

“Then you told me about your father and the pieces started coming together,” he continued and brushed away the emotion with a lazy hand gesture, returning to his cold and rational self. “A child is forced to trust those who care for them to survive, no matter how cruel they might be. Some of those children continue to do so even when they grow up. Like yourself.”

“And some of those children refuse to trust anyone at all when they grow up,” she said softly. “Like you…”

He looked sharply at her with a slight warning in his eyes. It softened a moment after, and he looked away from her again. He did not comment on her observation. It had been a reach in the dark. She did not know much about Raphael’s relationship with his father, other than he both hated him and was terrified of him, though his reaction had told her that she was right in her guess.

“I think that night was when I started truly feeling something for you as well,” she said.

“I’m aware,” he said with a small smile. “You made it all too easy for me, my dear. I knew I had you in the palm of my hand from the moment you dared to show me your scars. From then it was a game: drawing you in by showing you the parts of myself that I knew you wanted to see and pushing you away with the parts of what I truly am to see how far I could go.”

“Say what you will but it was not all deception,” she said. “I began to be able to tell the difference.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Which I only allowed because I knew I had you. Then you ran away, and I thought for a moment that I had been wrong, and I let you go. I rarely am. Now you are here, proving that I was right all along. You might not know what your answer will be yet, but I do. You will stay.”

“Am I truly so hopelessly predictable?”

He did not say anything, but his smile said everything.

“If you were so sure, then why were you still playing your mind games with me?” she asked. “Why did you try to appeal to my stubbornness by saying I would leave you?”

He took a deep breath and studied her with an unreadable expression for a moment.

“I dislike being proven wrong,” he said in a quiet voice. “It does happen on rare occasions. This is something that I am not sure I can bear being proven wrong about…”

She looked at him and how his eyes softened ever so slightly as he said it. He looked and sounded so sincere that it almost made her tear up. She was not going to let him off the hook so lightly though.

“Say it then,” she said hurriedly, her voice beginning to crack. “Say that you want me to stay. Use that clever silver-tongue of yours to convince me to do so. I need to hear it.”

He looked at her with such longing for a moment.

“I will not lie to you, Tav,” he said. “My intention when I let you go was sincere. It would be better for you to leave. Was I not selfish, I would have left you in Baldur’s Gate and refused you entry to my home. The foundation for your love for me was built by the cruelties you have known in your past. You are young and have had no time to build anything else, though you should be given the chance before I eventually come for your soul. However,” he said and paused before continuing. “It just so happens that I am selfish. I do want you to stay and I do love you...Though only in a way that will never be adequate for what you need or deserve…”

Tav’s tears were running down her cheeks. She inhaled sharply as she tried to stop crying so much. They had never told each other before. Not really. He held out a clawed hand to her. She got up from her chair and took it. He gently pulled her to his lap and wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed into his doublet.

“I love you too,” she sobbed while he ran his fingers through her hair in a soothing motion. “I just wish…gods…I just wish it didn’t have to be like this. Because this is the person I love. Not the person I have seen today and yesterday.”

“No matter how much you wish it, they are the same,” he sighed into her hair. “You cannot get the man and discard the devil, my sweet.”

“But you could change,” she pleaded. “I don’t know how. You could just stop. Stop collecting souls, stop torturing people, stop all of this.”

“I am thousands of years old,” he said. “I am set in my ways. I cannot change just for you, my dearest, and I do not wish to. Your life time is a mere blink of an eye for someone like me. I have to survive and live on long after you are gone and—”

He cut his sentence off abruptly and held her even closer. His breathing changed and he was not allowing her to see his face with the grip he held her in. Was he crying? It was gone again after he cleared his throat and kissed the top of her head.

“It will hardly matter though, will it?” he asked softly. “You will choose to stay regardless…you poor thing.”

She started crying again when she realized that he was right. She nodded. She heard a small sigh of relief coming from his lips. She placed her hands on his cheeks and looked into those orange eyes of his.

She never realized how differently she had seen his two forms before now. That she had somehow separated who he was even in that regard. She looked at that orange light that shone through the black abyss of his sclera, and at the jagged horns that protruded from his forehead. She had always thought that she had only loved the man. She found to her horror that she loved the devil as well.

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” she asked him genuinely, as if she truly did not have the answer herself and had gone slightly mad. “Or I’m evil too, perhaps. A terrible person at least. I’m not a hero, that’s for sure, or a good person. How else could I do this?”

“You are human,” he said with a smile. “The Hells would be empty if it was not for that simple quality of imperfection in mankind. I should know. I have spent my life on exploiting it.”

She went quiet and leaned against his chest again. Her head was still running away with her. Not because she was to make a decision, but to cope with the one she had just made.

She was standing on the balcony, looking out over the hellscape of Avernus. Her new home. It was an impossible task to take it all in at once. Everything had happened so fast. Perhaps that had been the point. Even now, she was not sure how much of the outcome of the situation had been meticulously planned by Raphael.

She had felt the same way during her adventure. Everything seemed complete coincidence until Raphael’s name seemed to pop up everywhere, and it became apparent that the devil had orchestrated a lot more than could ever be seen at their first glance. The Shadow-cursed Lands, Astarion’s scars, Gortash, the Crown, Orpheus and his chains…All tied to one man who seemed to hold fate itself in the palm of his clawed hand.

Who knew if she was not simply a key to something bigger down the line as well and that it had all been one big trick? Everyone else who had gotten connected to him probably thought they had the upper hand as well and it seemed all too like him to let them believe that.

She felt that she understood him and knew how he worked. She was sure of it. Then again…a person might understand the intricate nature of any beast, but that won’t make the beast any less dangerous and it won’t save them from being devoured if it pleases it.

Her head was somewhere else when the beast himself snaked an arm around her waist from behind her and placed a kiss on her neck. His free hand held a rolled piece of parchment in front of her face. She took it.

“Read it through carefully,” he purred and placed another kiss on her neck. “We can discuss any changes or adjustments you might have after.”

She rolled out the parchment and looked it over briefly.

“What is this?”

“A contract of sorts,” he said. “Not for your soul, but for your life. Rules for you to follow and freedoms that I will grant you in return.”

“A deed of ownership, essentially…”

“Marriage, essentially,” he corrected and smiled against her skin. “I did tell you that if you chose this, you would be mine. Mine in life and in death.”

She huffed and turned around to face him.

“Same thing in the end, isn’t it?”

“Must you be such a pessimist, my dear?” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Read it. Let me hear your thoughts when you are done.”

She smiled at him and lowered her gaze to read it through. It was rather long and extremely detailed.

A few of the notable freedoms he would grant her did in fact surprise her: she would be granted four months of every year to spend time on the Material Plane, which would not include the times where he might take her there himself. She would also be given a private space that she could use as she pleased. She would never have to sleep in the same bed or occupy the same space as him, if she did not want to, and most importantly, it was stated that he could not force her to do anything against her will.

She got to the clauses containing the rules for their ‘marriage’. There were a lot that made perfect sense, such as infidelity not being permitted in their relationship (there was an extensive list of what Raphael categorized as such underneath). There were also plenty of odd ones: She could not communicate with other devils or agents of the Infernal in any way, shape or form. There was also another one that was wrapped in so much Infernal legalese that it took her a while to decipher it: she was unable to remove the effects of any spells or conditions that Raphael put on her for whatever reason.

Her eyes scanned over every word, though when she had read to the end and there was only the dotted line left on the page, she was still confused about one thing.

“You can’t take my soul as collateral if I break the rules since you already own it,” she stated. “So, what am I signing away?”

“Correct,” he said. “This is a different sort of contract. In a sense it is not entirely different from a warlock’s pact. If the warlock breaks any clauses, their patron might take something away from them for a time instead of breaking the pact entirely. In the cases of warlocks, that would be their powers, but in the case of you, it will be some of those freedoms stated in your contract.”

Ah. There was the catch that she had been waiting on. She sighed and scanned through the contract once again. Most of the rules seemed easy enough to follow. Then again, that was often the thing with contracts like these: they looked fair on the surface. She had already taken a decision, so it was too late to back out now anyway. She would simply have to trust him.

“I’ll sign,” she said. “But I have one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You will be more honest with me in the future,” she said. “I know that you don’t lie, but I want you to be clearer with your intentions in the future. No more games...”

He smiled at her.

“Such things are awfully difficult to write into a legal document,” he said.

“I just want your word on it,” she said. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said. “Will you sign then?”

She nodded. He summoned a quill. She took a deep breath and looked it through one last time before signing it. She was going to regret this. She just knew it.

He smiled fondly at her and made the contract disappear with a snap of his fingers. He walked closer and his arms wrapped around her.

“Another rhyme then…for old times’ sake,” he said quietly to her and looked at her lips. “Though fate was cruel, the cat said, our paths again align. The chase is over, my sweet mouse, now that you are mine…”

She smiled. He leaned down and kissed her softly. In that moment all her worries disappeared from her mind as if they had never been there in the first place.

She loved him. The man who felt, and the cruel silver-tongued devil who did not. All of him. She would gladly hand him the knife that he would use to cut her open with, if only it meant that she could be the blood that clung to him after. He would stitch her together again anyway, and she would know that only he could ever make her feel whole.

[fractualized]

Today in "I know we bust on comics a lot around here but there are still plenty of comics worth your time," I think Robin Lives is off to a promising start!

Also, I have to say, I found myself comparing it to Three Jokers. For one thing, it seems like much more of an examination of trauma than Three Jokers was purported to be. For another, while Three Jokers had me doubting that Geoff Johns really read The Killing Joke, Robin Lives feels like JM DeMatteis gives a crap about what actually happened in "Death in the Family."

But my petty grudges aside, here's what I liked about Robin Lives #1, with lots of spoilers. (And images of child murder and such, obviously.)

Unless there are shenanigans later, Joker definitely dies on the very first page.

Falls at Bruce's feet. Aw. :(

So this presents to us an instant mystery! Was Bruce responsible? Or was it Jason? Someone else entirely? Looks like the answer will be in three more issues. For now, we flash back to the aftermath of Jason's near-death.

DeMatteis deals with Joker's infamous ambassadorship by simply… taking it away. Which is pretty funny to me.

"Honestly, we were coming off a pretty wild party when we made that decision. Who knows what we were thinking? Hahaha, no hard feelings, right— What's that gas??"

I should note the narration in the purple box, which starts before this scene. Halfway through the issue, we learn that this story is being narrated by Dr. Saraswati Dev (aka Sara), a trauma doctor that Bruce hires for Jason. As we read what happens in this deviation from canon, she examines how we should view people who do such terrible things when their own lives and actions are affected by mental illness, their own trauma, and so on. It's an admittedly blunt story-telling tactic, spelling out the nuance for the reader, but I don't mind it, and it tells us that this version of Jason's story won't end cleanly.

Sara also clearly knows much more about Batman and his sidekicks than the average civilian, which raises the question of how she gets so involved in their lives. I'm hoping it's not because she becomes a love interest… but then again if that's presented as one of Bruce's screwed up mistakes, that has potential!

Anyway, as reviewed in a previous post, Joker was uneasy about killing Jason from the start, and that doesn't change in this version. When Bruce rescues the Iranian representatives, Joker tries to downplay what he did.

Hee hee, "Batsy-boo."

Joker can't escape for long, though.

And I have to pause here to note that this scene is reminiscent of the climax in the "Going Sane" storyline, which DeMatteis also wrote.

[Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #68]

There are differences in the scenarios, of course, but the other thing about "Going Sane" is that Joker/Joseph repeatedly refers to the urge to return to his former self as drowning.

[Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #66]

So in Robin Lives, it adds an extra kick when Bruce overturns Joker's boat and then stands by as Joker drowns.

Oh god that feeling when your secret fears come to fruition

But don't worry!

This is all an interesting variation "Death in the Family." Then, in his grief, Bruce was constantly fluctuating on if he was going to kill Joker, and his eventual attempt was trapping Joker in a crashing helicopter. In Robin Lives, he seems ambivalent too, again engineering the circumstances for Joker to die but not being an entirely active participant, and also not angry at Clark for rescuing him. (Speaking of which, Clark sure as heck didn't rescue Joker from the original helicopter incident. I guess he's ambivalent in his own way!)

So Joker is returned to Arkham Asylum, where Bruce talks to the current director, Dr. Benjamin Stoner (who evidently really was the director at the time but also a literal agent of chaos??? OK I guess I'll keep that in mind). Stoner pushes back on Bruce's assessment of the Joker.

At the time, Bruce vanishes, but as we see in the narration when Bruce faildads hard with a recovering Jason, he later seems to reflect on Stoner's words along with Jason's.

Jason appears at the start of the issue in the hospital, but we finally get into it with him in the second half. He keeps withdrawing from Bruce and Alfred, so Dick appears to provide some emotional support.

The page already notes that, no, this chat is not going to be enough to get Jason back to baseline. But it's also darkly hilarious that Dick thought it would be, especially keeping in mind that the implication is that this is the only time Dick comes over, and it's after Jason has been listless for some time. It's almost like this whole family is bad at feelings.

But Bruce does finally hire a professional, our narrator.

Of course, Jason overhears their discussion and thinks Bruce is planning to send him away.

Ouch.

Jason decides to prove that he's totally fine, actually, by saving a gala from Scarecrow by himself. Did you guess that he gets hit with fear toxin? Because yeah, they always get hit with fear toxin!

Oh my god he just wanted his mom to save him 😭

OH GOD FOR A SECOND I FORGOT IT WAS FEAR TOXIN

I should take a second to jump back and note that Jason imagining Joker getting one right between the eyes, just like we saw at the start, feels like a solid indication that in the end, he will definitely be Joker's killer... but, well, you really don't know until it happens.

So Jason is out of commission, but before Scarecrow can kidnap him for interrogation, Batman finally shows up. Bruce beats the everloving crap out of Crane, obviously still consumed with anger about what happened in Ethiopia. The freaking cops have to ask him to stop.

And then the final page is just more of the saddest of sadtimes.

I do love that first narrative detail in the top panel. Bruce is feeling angry and guilty but also humiliated and ashamed. He knows Jason is a vulnerable kid who needs help, but as always, Jason also represents Bruce's personal failures. He couldn't get Jason to do exactly as he was told. He couldn't protect Jason from harm. He couldn't maintain the image of Batman as invulnerable, not with this terrified boy shaking on the ground. Bruce does not have control.

It's very human, and it's a key ingredient in whatever disaster is to come. Even if we didn't have Sara's final questions in the last two panels, we can already tell that Bruce is going to continue to make not-great choices.

I've already ordered #2, and I'm looking forward to reading what DeMatteis has in store in the next three issues. Barbara has to make an appearance, right? And she'd be a great candidate for the shooter...

[theofaluvsviolet]

Miquella’s Character arc

There is a fuss going on after the dlc release about Miquella so I am here to say my own thoughts and opinions on this. YES, Miquella ended up being manipulative and he didn’t do the best things to achieve his goals no matter his good intentions. But that was not always the case…

Miquella’s beginning, as we see in the Haligtree, gave hopes and possibilities for a better world. He did care for his sister and did care for the unwanted. After he abandoned the golden order fundamentalism he still worked hard to cure his sister. Thinking he could achieve his goals by remaining an incomplete god and essentially a child though, didn’t work.

If you think about it, every Demigod that ever ascended to godhood or anything related to gaining power (Rykard, Godrick, Malenia etc) drove them all out of their last parts of sanity, their sense of justice and compassion. A common thing we see is that, the demigods begun as rebellions against the golden order and then to make their goals reality they ascended into gods, in a maddening state. This is what happens to Miquella in the dlc and you, save him from this fate…

By leaving behind his body parts and especially St. Trina, Miquella left behind everything that was keeping him a good person and a person willing to truly change the world. He even abandoned the Haligtree and his sister in order to ascend. He moved to horrific deeds and decisions in order to succeed his ascension to godhood, and if you think about some other demigods, or Marika herself, it’s a non escaping end.

If in the beginning, wished for a better world he wouldn’t even think of his “non free will age” he then realized that to fix this world it’s going to be needed more than mere compassion. And by realizing that he abandons every doubt, every kindness, every unconditional love to his ascension. His ability to gain love from others and to aspire a world of it turned into manipulation.

When you, the tarnished follow his footsteps you essentially follow his broken parts, all parts of his fears to follow this path. And then St. Trina, all that’s left from his kindness, tells you to kill him in order to protect him and save him from this fate of corruption that his mother too had.

St. Trina tells you to kill Miquella and not let the poor thing become a god. This is what she meant. She meant to save him from this fate of becoming a god. He left behind his pieces of all unconditional kindness. By killing him, you save him from this fate. Maybe you, even save his kindness alive in any way you wish.

• Were his actions in the DLC wrong? YES

• Were his intentions good? YES

• Did he manipulate? YES in the end

• Did he truly have care for others? YES, in the beginning

Would I choose his age of compassion? No it still doesn’t add up to me but, in my eyes Miquella is not that evil master villain that others portray. His character development is much more complex than the definition of “good” or “evil”. Essentially he begun as a promising and carrying character and ended up as a naive tragic manipulator.

Now shoutout to the other topic today.

Miquella and Mohg

• Did Mohg kidnap Miquella on his own will? YES

• Was he enchanted by Miquella? YES

• Did Miquella have any plans with him? YES, but NOT before he took him.

So, even if in the dlc we know that Miquella charmed Mohg, we are also clued that, Mohg actually had his own plans and ambitions with him. Miquella would never think to involve Mohg in his plans, not after he realises that he turned useful. It just doesn’t make any sense. But that doesn’t mean that Mohg was not charmed, LATER

The first plan of Miquella, was to wait inside his cocoon inside the Haligtree and be born again as a new god. But we know that Mohg, while Malenia was against Radahn, still abducted Miquella from inside his cocoon.

“ Wishing to raise Miquella to full godhood, Mohg wished to become his consort, taking the role of monarch. But no matter how much of his bloody bedchamber he tried to share, he received no response from the young Empyrean “

“Render up your offerings of blood to your Lord. Drench my consort's chamber. Slake his cocoon's thirst. His awakening shall herald the dawn of our dynasty”

This concludes to the fact that indeed, Mohg tried to share his bedchamber with Miquella and indeed wished to build a new dynasty with him as his consort.

And while we know that Miquella charmed him in order to achieve his entrance to the Land of Shadow, there is no explanation on why would he charm him to take him out of his cocoon which he was trying to succeed something in. He still had faith in the Haligtree and he decided to abandon it later.

But I am pretty sure that Miquella departed his spirit from body, so he probably wanted Mohg to stop his blood rituals on him. This is probably why he charmed him. He wanted him to stop and used his power to make him act on his own plans. I believe that the charm came after the abduction when he realised this ritual will not grant him his wishes.

What Ansbach said about him trying to undo Miquella’s charm, Mohg must’ve been already charmed at this point. Ansbach would not like his lord to be enchanted in any way, no matter what Miquella made him do.

Miquella decided to take Mohg’s body way after he was killed. He lost all of his kindness and compassion at this point.

[unreliablesnake]

I’ve got to know what it’s like to try and divorce Vincent. Love your work 🥰

Note: You know what? I wanted to know too. (Oh, and thank you ❤️)

“I want a divorce,” you stated as you handed him the papers.

There was no malice in your voice, you did your best to keep it as neutral as possible. You were afraid of his reaction, mostly because you had a feeling he wouldn't let you get away that easily.

And just as you expected, his jaw tightened as he took the papers and looked down at them, going through each page to see what it was all about. “Marital breakdown? Really?” he asked when he reached the part about the ground for the divorce.

You could have chosen mutual consent, but because of your dear husband, you didn't expect this option to work. So you took a risk, and apparently he wasn't happy with that either. Well, you doubted he would have been happy with any reason at all.

“Just sign it. I don't want anything from you,” you added.

Vincent threw the papers on his desk and took a step closer to you. “I won't sign this, don't even think about it,” he hissed as he looked down at you, eyeing you as if you had just stabbed him in the heart and twisted the knife.

“Please, don't make this more complicated than it should be. Just let me go,” you asked him. “We don't have a child, and like I said, I don't want anything from you. This should be a walk in the park if you sign it.”

“I am not going to sign anything,” he repeated, punctuating each and every word carefully in hopes of his message finally getting through to you. “And why do you want to leave me? Do you have someone waiting for you to be free of me?”

His question surprised you, because you didn't think he would ever have doubts about your fidelity. “Don't be ridiculous, I'm not having an affair. I just had enough of this between us.”

Letting out a sigh, he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips. When you pushed him away, he let out an annoyed groan. “I gave you everything, mon amour, how can that not be enough for you? What more do you want?”

“I don't want anything from you, Vincent. Just sign the papers, please. I want to leave Paris tonight,” you admitted almost guiltily. You didn't want to leave so abruptly, but you simply couldn't stay here any longer.

You watched as he took a deep breath then began to pace in front of you, his hand finding its way to his hair. “Tonight? You want to leave me tonight? It's two in the afternoon!” he said, raising his voice.

“I know it's sudden, but I'm suffocating. I've been thinking about this for weeks, and–”

“Weeks?” he interrupted you angrily. “You've been thinking about ending our marriage for weeks and you're just telling me now on the day you want to leave me?”

It wasn't fair, you knew that. But you also knew that if you had given him time to process it, he would have used it to change your mind, to convince you to stay despite your decision. And he could have manipulated you until you agreed to stay with him, which you obviously didn't want.

“Just sign the papers. My lawyer will jump in to get them tomorrow,” you told him, then walked out of the room without waiting for his response.